Saving Ensign Chekov
by browneyedgirl29
Summary: After what should have been a routine away mission, Jim Kirk is faced with one of his worst nightmares: Chekov's been taken captive by the Orion slave trade. As he races to get his navigator back, Kirk is forced to consider what he was asked four years ago: "Is there anything you would not do for your family?" Post-Beyond. Slight Chekov whump. T for whump and darker topics.
1. Instinct

**Please don't judge me for the title. I assure you, it is the only bit of inspiration I took from Saving Private Ryan _._ I own neither that, nor Star Trek. **

* * *

Jim Kirk wasn't one to worry excessively when he didn't hear back from his away team. But this wasn't just an ordinary away mission. This was the first time Chekov had led an away mission. He was going to be honest, the idea of letting his twenty-two-year-old navigator lead an away mission had been a little bit daunting, but after Altamid, he figured Chekov had earned the right.

He knew the bridge crew could feel his tension. This wasn't just Chekov's first time leading an away mission, it was also the first away mission since the newly made _Enterprise_ had left Yorktown. Normally such an honor would go to the Captain, but Jim had decided to let Chekov have it for some reason he didn't even know himself. The combination of worry about his friend down on the planet and being moderately gun-shy from the encounter with Krall was probably giving him premature gray hair.

"Status, Mr. Sulu," he said, wanting something, anything to break this silence. Why couldn't he shake the feeling that something was wrong? Jim's gut feeling wasn't usually off about these kinds of things.

Spock might beg to differ, as would Bones, but Jim stuck by his gut feeling most the time.

"All systems normal, Captain," Sulu told him. "Away team's signals still strong."

Sulu turned around in his seat and eyed Jim. From the look on his face, he wasn't fooled by Jim's attempt at normality.

"He's going to be fine, Captain," Sulu said, his voice lowered so that only the pair of them and perhaps Spock and Uhura could hear them. "I honestly wouldn't be shocked if Chekov could survive anything. I mean, he _did_ survive Altamid."

Jim nodded, biting back the first thought that leaped to his mind. _Yeah, but I was with him then._ It wasn't so much a reflection on Chekov's ability to survive as it was on his own drive to protect his crew. It was the same drive that had led him to climb a damn warp core just so they wouldn't all be incinerated. No one could call _that_ self-preservation if they tried.

And it was the same drive that told him not to ignore this gut feeling right now. Shaking his head as if to clear it, Jim turned to Spock. "Mr. Spock, you have the bridge. Mr. Sulu, you're with me." Without offering explanation as to what they were doing, Jim strode toward the bridge, motioning Sulu after him.

They didn't stop until they were safely down the corridor, and Jim turned to Sulu. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

Sulu frowned. "Everything's perfectly normal down there, as far as we can tell, Captain. Not even an elevated heart rate. What's the problem?"

Jim couldn't even explain it. He just knew something was wrong. "Call it a gut thing. I'm just – not sure this was such a good idea. Maybe I should have led this one. Why didn't I?"

"To be honest, Captain, we're all sort of wondering that one," Sulu told him. "But you've got to remember – Chekov's not a kid anymore. As much as we'd all relatively like to deny it, the exact reason you gave when he asked you why you sent him instead of you down there. He's earned it."

Jim nodded. "I know he's not a kid anymore, Sulu. This isn't me doubting Chekov at all. I have complete confidence in his abilities. It's not like I'm thinking he's going to trip over his own feet down there or anything."

"Though it wouldn't be out of the question," Sulu muttered under his breath, clearly trying to draw a laugh out of him. Jim gave him points for trying.

"It's not him I don't trust," Jim continued. "It's that I don't trust what's out there."

Sulu looked as though he were about to ask _what_ was out there, exactly, but wasn't that the whole point of why they were here, on this five-year-mission, to begin with? They didn't know.

"Jim," Sulu began, calling him by his first name for the first time since he'd known the man, "you can't protect all of us. Not forever."

"You don't think I know that?" Jim snapped, then, seeing the barest trace of a wounded look in Sulu's eyes, sighed and amended, "Sorry, Sulu. It's just..."

He leaned up against the wall, grateful that the passing crewmembers chose to avert their eyes. He didn't like them seeing him like this. And honestly, he would prefer to be having this discussion with Bones. He considered Sulu a friend, a close friend, but there were only so many he felt comfortable revealing one of his deepest fears to.

"I get it, Jim," Sulu said. "You feel protective of all of us, but especially Chekov, right?"

Jim's head snapped up, and he stared at Sulu. Had the man read his mind?

"What? You don't think we all feel the same way?" Sulu asked, leaning up against the wall next to him, so that they were speaking more casually than before. "We're kind of stuck with each other, us senior crew members. You, Spock, McCoy, Uhura, Scotty, Chekov, and I. We've survived far too much together to not be. We're a family. And, as a family, we're naturally protective of our youngest member.

"As much as you'd do anything for any of us – which I know from personal experience," Sulu continued, smirking a little at the memory of the pair of them hurtling toward the crust of Vulcan, "you tend to worry about us less than you do Chekov. And that's because the first time you met him, he _was_ still a kid. Granted, a very capable kid who happened to save both of our lives, but a kid nonetheless.

"And though we'd like Chekov to think we've fully switched over to anything other than protective mode, I think you and I both know we haven't. Which is why we just need to let the rope out slowly, get used to the idea that our resident kid isn't really a kid anymore."

Jim considered Sulu's words and nodded. "I mean, if I'm so worried, I guess I could just...contact the away team myself, right?"

Sulu's smirk widened. "Remind me to tell you about that one time Uhura practically tore some guy's head off in that bar on Risa when he took a swing at Chekov. I think she might have killed him if Spock hadn't – "

Jim's communicator beeped. "Kirk here."

"Captain," came Spock's voice, and though he was seemingly just as calm as ever, there was the barest trace of alarm that Jim had learned to detect in his first officer's voice. Sulu had heard it too. They eyed each other uneasily.

"Your presence on the bridge is required immediately."

Jim and Sulu hesitated for just a minute before simultaneously breaking into a run for the lift doors.

It was a tense lift ride, but fortunately it only lasted for a few moments. Jim saw Spock bent over the helmsman's chair, while Sulu's replacement frantically worked at his controls. Looking over to Uhura, Jim could see her fists clenched tightly, her face pale.

"Status, Mr. Spock," he said, moving to his first officer's side while Sulu resumed his position.

"It would appear all of the away team's signals have cut out, Captain," Spock said, and Jim felt his heart sink. A cut off signal didn't necessarily mean death, but it did mean a cut off from communication, and a lack of ability to beam the away team back.

"All but one," Sulu added, going over everything his back-up had left him. Spock nodded.

"Mr. Chekov's signal is still strong, Captain," Spock said.

"But his heart rate is way elevated," Sulu said, frowning.

"Can we beam him back?" Jim asked, fighting back the growing pit in his stomach.

"There's a bit of surface interference, but it's not – "

"Captain, we're being hailed," Uhura cut over him, her voice barely calm. There was, just as there had been in Spock's, a small trace of misgiving.

"Coordinates?"

"The transmission is coming from the planet," she said, staring at him.

Jim swallowed hard, working hard not to show the trepidation that he felt. "Onscreen," he said, turning back to the viewer himself.

 _Orions._

Their distinctive green skin and fine features flashed across his screen. There were about eight of them, standing in a circle. And in the middle of that circle stood Chekov. Jim saw Sulu's shoulders stiffen out of the corner of his eye, and rather felt the same way. However, it was his job to seem unflappable in this situation.

"Captain Kirk," said the one in the very front of the group, a male. "At last we meet face to face. It's a pleasure."

Jim glanced briefly from the front man to Chekov. He was staring straight ahead, almost completely emotionless. Had he been taking lessons from Spock or something? Then Jim saw the ragged rise and fall of his shoulders. He knew that his navigator was attempting to control every fight or flight instinct in his body. He also knew that Chekov was rather inclined to impulse. That was occasionally useful, but in this case, it could be his undoing.

 _Show no fear, Chekov,_ he willed. _Just keep doing like you're doing, and maybe we'll find a way out of this._

"Forgive me, but I find it hard to believe that an Orion slave trader would find it a pleasure to come face to face with a Starfleet captain," Jim commented drily.

"Slave trader?" the Orion replied smoothly, a grin tipping his mouth. "Not us, Captain Kirk. At least, not now. Now we're more what you'd call...negotiators. On behalf of one of our own."

Spock turned to Jim. "Captain," he said under his breath. "This may be about the recent capture of Raycek."

Jim nodded. Raycek, one of the most notorious leaders of an Orion slave trade ring, had been brought to Yorktown just before they'd left. He would still be there for another week or so before he was taken to a prison planet, on charges from the Klingons. It wasn't too far of a leap to assume that these were Raycek's followers.

This was a hostage negotiation on both sides now.

"Where's the rest of my crew?" Jim asked, keeping his voice hard and neutral.

"They're perfectly all right, Captain," the Orion said of the other two crewmembers who had beamed down with Chekov. "Now tell me about _my_ comrade."

"I know nothing of Raycek," Jim said. "If that is, of course, who we're talking about here."

"But who doesn't know of Raycek – at least, who that has been on the starbase Yorktown recently?" the Orion said. Jim's teeth clenched. Another despot who was freakishly aware of the _Enterprise_ 's comings and goings.

"Your instructions are clear, Captain," he said. "Return to Yorktown, bring me back my leader, and meet me on the Orion colony Geshaash. Tell him to take you to Moloz. That's me, by the way."

He appeared to survey the ground by his feet. "We'll send these two back to you. They're a bit old for most slave trades, seeing as how they're females. This one, however..."

Moloz reached back as though he had eyes in the back of his head and grabbed Chekov by the chin, dragging him forward. Jim's fists clenched, but he almost thought he saw Chekov subtly shaking his head at him. _Don't get angry now,_ he appeared to be saying _. It won't do anyone any good._

Moloz examined Chekov closely. "Yes, this one's a fine specimen. Around the right age for a male. The females we prefer a bit younger, depending on what they'll be used for. But this one is strong, and attractive. He'll go well for whatever they choose to utilize him as."

 _Cheap labor or sex,_ Jim thought, translating the unspoken.

"Bring me Raycek before three days are passed," Moloz said. "Then I might be willing to return him to you. Fail me, and your friend will be lost to whichever person might buy him forever. Are my instructions clear?"

Clenching his teeth nearly as tight as his fists, Jim spat, "Perfectly."

"I'll see you in three days, then," Moloz, who hadn't released Chekov yet, smirked. "Or not." He gave Chekov another appraising look. "Of course, I'd prefer Raycek back, but, considering the amount people pay to get a slave as good as this one – " Jim bit back the desire to punch the Orion in the face as he leered at Chekov – "well, let's just say I won't be complaining."

Moloz shoved Chekov backward, the force of it shoving him back against another trader, a female, who gave him an equally appraising look.

"Three days, Captain Kirk," Moloz said, before the transmission cut off and the screen blipped out.

There was complete silence on the bridge. Jim stood rigid in the center, sure that if he moved, he'd grab the nearest thing to him and take his anger, frustration, and fear out on it. Unfortunately, that was Spock, so it was moderately out of the equation.

Lieutenant Kyle's voice came over the comm. "Captain, only two of the away team have beamed back...and they're unconscious, sir. Ensigns Robertson and Ingalls."

Before Kyle could continue, Jim cut in. "Affirmative, Mr. Kyle. We'll send a medical team down there immediately."

The entire bridge crew was looking at him. He knew they were waiting for his response, but for once, he had no idea what to do. This was one of his many worst nightmares that he had not yet had to deal with. And it was the only one that had him completely paralyzed.

A member of his crew, his friend, was out of his reach, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Save for one thing.

"Uhura, are we within communication range of Yorktown?"

Wordlessly, as though she didn't trust herself to speak, she nodded.

"Get me Commodore Paris."


	2. Implications

**Warning: Very brief mentions of suicide.**

* * *

Jim had been on edge before. It was rather hard in this job not to be on edge most of the time, if not all of it. But, looking back on it, he could honestly say he'd never had it _this_ badly. It was as if some unseen, giant entity had reached out a hand and was choking him from behind, and he could do nothing to break free.

Looking over at Spock, Jim ruefully thought, _It's not like I'm unfamiliar with the sensation, either._ But compared to this agonizing wait for Commodore Paris to answer the hailing call, being choked to death by an out-of-control Spock seemed like mere child's play.

Trying to calm himself down, Jim reflected on everything he knew of the Orion Syndicate. They were on the top of Starfleet's list of criminal organizations, making any member of it one of the most wanted criminals in Federation Space. In the past ten years, he knew Starfleet had tried to crack down on the slave rings, but they couldn't even begin to crack the surface of every clandestine operation the Orions had out there. Which was what had landed them in this situation to begin with.

The capture of Raycek was a victory, to be sure, but it was only a dent in the overall scheme of things. He may have been a leader of one of the most lucrative trading rings known to the galaxy, but Orions were fiercely loyal. One of their toughest crime lords would never give up any information on his fellows. Any member of the Orion Syndicate would rather take their own life than do so.

And, knowing how the Syndicate tended to operate, he would have a second-in-command, a wingman, to rise up and take his place once he was gone. It was rather like when Jim was on an away mission and Spock or Sulu had the conn, only slightly more permanent. It wasn't too hard to figure out that the honor had gone to Moloz.

Yet it was also clear that Moloz was determined to get his leader back. Most Orions would either infiltrate Yorktown themselves. Then there were the more ruthless ones, who, despite their loyalty, would just leave the captured comrade to rot. Hostage negotiations were nearly a foreign concept when dealing with the Syndicate.

So why open up the situation for negotiation? Why not just grab Chekov, leave the other crewmembers to die, and be out before the _Enterprise_ knew what had hit them or where their navigator had gone? It seemed more beneficial to Moloz in the long run to either spring Raycek himself or just have his – Jim grit his teeth – cargo and go.

Not for the first time, Jim wished Carol were back on the ship, or that Bones were close at hand. His ex and his best friend were the ones that were the best at hashing situations like this out with. But Carol had left the ship just before their mission took them to Yorktown, to pursue the scientific endeavor of terraforming, and he needed to remain on the bridge until Commodore Paris answered. He supposed he could call Bones up from Med Bay, but there had been a recent outbreak of some strange virus among the crew. Bones was certain it was picked up from their resident Teenaxian, Kevin. No, Jim couldn't bother Bones just yet.

Hoping for that distraction from the situation at hand, Jim allowed his thoughts to stray to Carol. Carol, who would have been a calming presence on the bridge right now. She would tell him to not give up hope just yet. She'd also be good to bounce his questions off of. One thing he'd always admired about that woman: She could see things from multiple angles.

Terraforming. She'd left him for terraforming. The selfish part of him, which took over more often than he cared to admit, thought it was a less noble pursuit than exploring the farthest reaches of the galaxy. But the unselfish part couldn't have stopped her if he'd tried. Her passion for the topic just made him love her more.

"Just picture it, Jim," she'd said one night as they'd lain in bed, looking up at his ceiling with eyes that he could have sworn reflected the stars they passed. "Whole worlds, started out of something so small, so barren. Worlds we can live on, start colonies on! The Federation could expand."

He missed her, that was for certain. And, in moments like these, the longing he felt for her grew. And he wouldn't have minded seeing her protective side come out in this instant. If Bones was the ship's mother – and there was no way the man could deny it, they'd christened him the "mom friend" long ago – Carol was that crazy aunt who had helped raise you. And she would remain calm as long as they were on the bridge. But once they'd reached the confinement of his quarters, she would start threatening whoever had dared mess with "her Russian." Each of the members of the senior crew was Carol's something. Jim wouldn't put it past her to even start breaking things.

Oh, yes. Moloz should count himself blessed that Carol Marcus was no longer a member of the _Enterprise_ crew.

Jim had just enough time to remember that he had a message waiting from Carol back in his quarters before Uhura said, "Commodore Paris has received our transmission, sir."

He stared straight ahead, unblinking. "Onscreen, Lieutenant."

Paris's rough, lined face came into view. "Captain," she greeted, nodding.

"Commodore."

"I didn't expect to speak to you again this soon after your departure from the starbase," she said. "Fortunately, it tends to be a pleasure."

Jim allowed himself a tight, thin-lipped smile, then let his expression fall. "I wish I could say the same, Commodore, but under the circumstances that I have to bring to your attention, I wouldn't call it a pleasure. We've recently had a run-in with the Orion Syndicate."

Paris's eyes strayed downward, toward where Jim knew she could see the open navigator's chair, but she said nothing. The woman was experienced in these sorts of matters, though, and she was even sharper than she looked. She knew exactly where this one was going.

Her face set itself, and she nodded once more. "Go on, Captain."

"They captured our away team. Two of the crewmembers were sent back, but the traders kept the third. They offered us a prisoner exchange. Raycek, for our crewmate."

Paris sat back in her chair and rubbed her temples as though nursing a headache. "That would be difficult," she said. "Seeing as how Raycek committed suicide not two hours ago."

A few of the bridge crew members gasped. Uhura let out a small "Oh, my...", her voice trailing off into a charged silence. Jim gripped the sides of his chair.

"What happened?" he asked through gritted teeth. He knew the Orion Syndicate would rather die than betray their own, but they weren't exactly given to kamikaze if not presented with a good reason for it. Surely the wardens at Yorktown weren't that stupid –

"One of our more inexperienced security officers decided it would be a good idea to drill him for information on his group of followers," Paris said, the tone in her raspy voice clearly stating that she was thoroughly pissed off. "Needless to say, he has since been dismissed from his position and sent back to his home world in disgrace."

She continued massaging her temples, leaving the conversation hanging in general silence. After a moment, Jim said, "Ma'am, they've given us three days. What does Starfleet Command recommend be done in this situation?"

Paris appeared to sigh resignedly, then looked him in the eye. "The loss of your crewman, while regrettable, is not to detract from your mission at hand. That mission being to seek out new life and new civilizations. And even if Raycek were still living, we would not give up a criminal who has been wanted for as long as he. In most cases, with nothing to hand over to them and no way of calling in reinforcement from another starship, since there are none in the same quadrant, we would instruct you to continue the mission."

Jim felt the panic begin to rise. No way was he letting Chekov go that easily. If it came down to it, he would gladly go against Starfleet's orders if it meant getting his friend back safely. There were at least seven people Jim Kirk would risk not only his life, but his commission for, and Pavel Chekov was one of them. Yes, he was prepared to go down for Chekov's sake. But it wouldn't hurt if he didn't have to.

"Ma'am, please, just give me – "

"Which crewmember was it, Kirk?" she asked, interrupting him and stopping him dead in that way of hers. "The one the Syndicate captured?"

Swallowing, Jim answered, "Our navigator, Commodore. Ensign Pavel Chekov."

She nodded. "I had the pleasure of meeting him while your crew was waiting for the new ship on Yorktown. Bright young man. He would have made an exemplary commanding officer one day, had he been given the chance." Though she was all but ordering them to leave the situation alone, Jim could hear the sadness in her voice. She truly didn't want to give this command. "His loss will be felt by the Federation as a whole." Paris lowered her gaze, as though her hands had suddenly become fascinating.

Jim was sure his teeth were nubs in his gums by now. He gripped the armrests even harder. She hadn't changed his decision, only its implications.

"That being said," Paris continued, looking back up and nailing him with steely gray eyes that could strike terror into the heart of the fiercest Klingon warrior, "I'm sure command would not complain if a bust were to be led on an Orion slave trading ring. Especially if it involved the followers of a recently captured crime lord."

She gave him a small smile, and Jim couldn't help but return it. Oh, there were implications all right. Implications on the woman's countenance right there. She was all but telling him to break regulation and go after the Orions until there was nothing left of them.

"Understood, ma'am," he said.

Her smile grew a bit more conspiratorial. "Report back to me if anything... develops, Kirk. Good luck with your mission."

The transmission blipped off screen, and Jim knew the entire crew was looking to him, waiting for his orders. He rose.

"Mr. Sulu, plot a course for the Orion colony Geshaash," Jim ordered.

"Yes, sir," Sulu said, hope lent to his words.

Jim turned back to Spock. "Once that's done, I want the remaining senior crew members to meet me in the conference room in ten minutes. I want a laid-out strategy. This is a rescue mission and nothing less, so think less of the means and more of the end. I'll comm Dr. McCoy and Mr. Scott myself, Lieutenant Uhura." He leveled a stare at Uhura and Spock. "There's only one end to this predicament. We're bringing Chekov back...whatever condition he may be in. Am I understood?"

Uhura nodded, and Spock replied, "Perfectly, Captain."

Jim gave them both one last look, and then strode toward the lift. He was on it and gone so fast he had no time to hear Sulu call out, "Captain – "

But Jim was gone. Sulu turned to Spock.

"Commander, I just marked the course for Geshaash. And this – this is _not_ good."

* * *

The remaining six members of the senior crew gathered around the conference table. Jim looked anywhere but directly across from him, which was where Chekov usually positioned himself. Instead, he focused on making sure each of his crew members understood exactly. What. The. Outcome. Of. This. Situation. Would. Be.

"Any thoughts on the matter?" Jim asked, having given a thorough briefing to Bones and Scotty.

Bones' normal frown had probably doubled in depth, and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists on the table.

"I have a thought, Jim," he growled. "But I doubt it'll be helpful."

Scotty, on the other hand, was all too eager to put his two cents in. He, too, had sat there, anger rapidly spreading across his face, which was growing as red as his shirt.

"I say we blow them sky high," he said. "Keenser and I, we could rig up some good explosives. Ye can sneak in and get the laddie out, Captain. And then I'll make any attack they've seen before look like wee men playing at war!"

"Let's not get too destructive here, Mr. Scott," Jim said, though secretly he didn't think it was a bad idea.

"No one," Scotty muttered. " _No one_ messes with ma wee man. No one. Especially nae that lily-livered, mucous-faced Orion Syndicate!"

The corner of Jim's mouth quirked upward. "My thoughts exactly, Scotty. My thoughts exactly."

At his right side and on the far left of the table, Spock and Sulu were exchanging glances. Sulu looked especially worried about something, but Jim attributed it to the fact that, outside of the ship, Chekov was probably the crew member Sulu was closest to. Still, he'd managed to hold it together so well on the bridge. Come to think of it, Uhura was looking from him to Sulu and back and nodding to the latter as if to encourage him onward.

Jim opened his mouth to question Sulu on the matter when Spock interjected, "We must consider the fact that if we are caught, the only way to get ourselves and Mr. Chekov out of the predicament is Raycek. And he is deceased."

The silence that fell over the crew was tangible. Of course, they'd all realized that their bargaining tool was gone, and hadn't ever really been theirs to use in the first place. How exactly would they maneuver their way out of that one, if the occasion arose?

Bones was the one to speak up.

"We buy him back," he said, fierceness in his voice. They all eyed him, and he met every one of their gazes. Jim secretly thought that he'd chosen right when he'd christened Bones the "mom friend." He looked near ready to pulverize something, and considering Scotty across from him, that was saying something.

"We pool our credits. We give whatever they're asking. I don't care if it takes everything we have. We'll buy Chekov back." Bones sat back in his chair, looking slightly uncomfortable. "After all, they're businessmen, aren't they? We simply make them an offer they can't refuse."

"A cliché best attributed to a fictional crime lord of the 1960s, Doctor," Spock interjected, as though he weren't sure it was the proper euphemism at this time.

"Still, it's a hell of a saying for a hell of a pickle, Spock," Bones rebuffed.

Jim considered the matter. "That's the best idea I've heard so far," he said.

"Okay, so we have our back-up plan," Uhura said. "But nowhere in there did I hear anything about a concrete Plan A."

"Considering the fact that most Plan As fail, I don't see the downfall in this, Lieutenant," Jim said.

She leveled him with a glare. "I do," she said. "Mostly because I'd rather not risk Chekov's life by improvising. Which, if I may add, you tend to be given to."

The room fell silent once more, and Jim realized once more just how grave this situation was. If Uhura, who had actually grown fond of him, despite him being a bit of an ass in the Academy, was talking to him like that, they had issues.

This was not good. No matter which way he looked at it, there was no plus to this. Even if they got Chekov back, there was no guarantee what condition he would be in, knowing the way Orions treated their slaves even before the auction block. They would lose, Chekov would lose, possibly more than they even dared to think. And then the Orions would certainly lose when, in retaliation, Scotty would decimate their colony and Jim would not lift a finger to stop them.

He'd finally encountered a no-win scenario.

Jim had only ever admitted to Spock when he had no clue what he was doing. But, as he looked around at his crew and minute after minute of silence passed with no word from him, he suddenly knew that they could all see right through him.

There was no point in hiding it.

"You're right, Uhura," he said. "I _am_ a big fan of improvising. But, if I'm being honest with you all, it's because half the time, I have no idea what I'm doing. And one thing I've always known. As captain, I can be right. I can be wrong. There's no shame in being wrong. But I can't ever be unsure.

"Right now, though, I've got no idea what to do, and there is way too much at stake here for me to just improvise my way through it and somehow rely on sheer dumb luck to win out," he continued, not meeting any of their eyes. "Losing any of you would kill me. And that's exactly what's at stake here. If we lose him...if we lose Chekov..."

Jim's voice trailed off. Bones and Scotty were staring down at their hands, as if unsure of what to do. Spock was looking straight at him, as though he were trying to see within his soul and figure out exactly where Jim thought it was a good idea to reveal to the crew that he was just as clueless as the rest of them here. Uhura was looking to Spock as if hoping he would say something to alleviate the situation. But the only one to speak up was Sulu.

Jim almost dared to hope he'd offer words of encouragement, but that hope was in vain. Because the blow Sulu was about to deal knocked the foundation out from under any tentative plan they might have built.

"It gets worse, Captain," he said, quietly, but without muttering. Sulu had never been a mutterer. "I took the fastest course to Geshaash, set it at maximum warp, but... It'll take us four days, at least, sir."

"What?" Bones exclaimed, as usual sounding more angry than anything else, belying the fear he was truly feeling. Scotty had taken up the clenching and unclenching fists, but looked as though the thoughts of murder had cleared his mind, replaced by the same fear Bones was feeling. And Jim – it seemed as though the rug had been yanked out from under his feet.

He turned to Spock and Uhura. "You two knew," he said. "The three of you knew. That's why you've been..." He wordlessly waved a finger around, alluding to their glances throughout the entire meeting.

Falling back into his chair, Jim was seriously contemplating admitting defeat. They had no plan but a back-up plan. Even that one was tentative at most. And they were at least a few hours behind the Orion vessel, set to arrive just after the deadline Moloz had set for them.

Knowing how quickly and stealthily the Orion Syndicate moved, Chekov could be long gone by the time they even laid eyes on Geshaash.


	3. Bruises

**Warning: Some mention of sex slavery. Also, whump begins in this chapter. Most of you came into this with open eyes about the whump, so I won't be posting warnings for it anymore at this point. But anything that might be a trigger for something, I will warn you about.**

* * *

Pavel Chekov was not completely without his wits. Sure, he'd been captured by the most feared crime syndicate in the galaxy, but fear didn't usually cloud his judgment, and this was no exception. There was something moderately satisfying about seeing the disappointment on the Orions' faces when he didn't cower before them.

Defiance had always been a strong point of his, though most didn't get to see that. He was, after all, Russian.

So, since he'd had his wits about him while being marched down the corridor of the Orion ship to his holding cell, he'd taken note of the vessel as they went. The shuttle bay, where they'd started out, was five hundred paces from the cell, to the best of his calculation. The first part of the corridor consisted of doors that he assumed were part of the Orions' living and working quarters. The second half was likely for their prisoners. Of which there appeared to be quite a few.

Chekov wasn't just leaping to conclusions, of course. The fact that the second half of the corridor had locks on all of the doors told him a great deal. The first half all slid open as soon as they passed, much as they should, revealing their contents – a mess hall, the bridge, the rec room, the barracks. It might have seemed like the _Enterprise_ , if it hadn't all been on one level and run entirely by criminals.

Mentally he ran over the details. He didn't think it would be too hard to slip past the prison cells if he was afforded an opportunity for escape. It was the ten doors he'd passed before that which concerned him. Doors didn't just open when you passed. You had to be specifically walking toward them. This led him to believe that it was some sort of guard against prisoner escape.

Then there were the other prisoners. If he escaped, there was no guarantee anyone would be able to come back for them. In the event that he got an opportunity to steal a shuttle and escape, Chekov would do that, but he didn't exactly relish the idea of leaving anyone else behind.

Finally, at the end of the corridor, Moloz stopped and stood in front of a device that scanned his eyes. A door slid open, revealing only one other person inside. Their back was turned to the door, and they sat rigidly, defiantly. Chekov decided he liked whoever it was already.

"Brought you some company," Moloz sneered. "Don't enjoy each other _too_ much. We need this one fresh for the auction block."

The Orion who was holding Chekov's arm as they'd marched down the corridor let go and shoved him into the cell. Outside, Moloz scanned his eyes again and the door slid shut. Resigning himself to the fact that if escape was coming, he'd have to work a way out of this place first, Chekov turned to look at his cellmate, who'd done much the same thing.

It was a human girl, probably about fourteen. She eyed him up and down, and Chekov couldn't help but think that she was way too young for the hardened look in her eyes. He'd been in his second year at the Academy when he was her age, but she'd obviously had a slightly less fortunate road.

"Starfleet?" she asked, nodding at his gold uniform.

Chekov nodded. Okay, she was familiar with Starfleet, and she was obviously human. That didn't necessarily mean her home planet was Earth. She continued surveying him with that shrewd, hard gaze of hers.

"Well, I hope that says something about what kind of person you are," she muttered. "But then again, I guess you get all kinds no matter where you go."

He gave a derisive laugh. "I von't contest that theory," he said. "You're human. Are you from Earth, or one of the Federation colonies?"

"I was from Earth initially," she said. "Then my dad moved us to Alpha Eridani II when I was ten. That sucked, but Earth wasn't too bad. You're obviously from Earth."

Chekov frowned at her. "And you know zis...how?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You're definitely Russian. Probably from around the Black Sea. I've got a good ear for accents. Not only is yours fairly clear, but most people only have accents if they've lived somewhere under the age of six. My dad's from the American Deep South, so I know. Me, I grew up in San Francisco, so I sound like a Californian. Point is, you're from Earth. Point is, you're Russian. Therefore, it follows that you're Terran."

Chekov raised his hands in surrender. "Fair enough. Although I vould like to point out zat I did spend some time on ze Lunar Colony ven I vas ten."

She smirked, and it was the most pleasant she'd looked since he'd met her. "Fair enough," she echoed. "I'm Lauren, by the way. We're going to be cell mates until you get to Geshaash, might as well know what to call each other until then."

"Pavel," he said. "And I don't have any intent of letting zem get me to Geshaash. I vas analyzing ze corridor on my vay here – "

"You might as well forget escaping," Lauren snapped harshly. "I've already tried it. You don't just get off this ship."

Chekov eyed her. "Are you sure you've exhausted ewery possibility? How long have you been here, anyvay?"

"A year," she said sullenly, staring at the floor and tracing a circle with her foot. Chekov frowned. That would certainly explain what was with the hardened look, so out of place on one so young. But something about it didn't add up...

"How have you been here a year?" he asked. "Vy hawen't zey sold you yet?"

She looked up at him, her gaze bitter. "Because I didn't start out on this ship," she growled. "Moloz bought me. I'm... _his_."

Chekov let that settle in for a few moments. Okay, _now_ the pieces were starting to come together. And they made his Russian temper start to flare. At his best guess, she would have been thirteen when Moloz had bought her, and though she hadn't stated it explicitly, it didn't take a genius to find out what he used her for. Among Orions, he thought that might be considered normal. But the idea of Moloz, who was probably at least thirty Earth years Lauren's senior, using her in such a way made his blood boil under his skin. This…this was sick, in so many different ways.

It then occurred to him that Lauren might actually be younger than she looked. He knew that often a hard life made one appear older. He could cite Dr. McCoy as a prime example of the phenomenon. That made matters even worse.

In that moment, Chekov's mind was made up. If he got off this blasted ship, he was taking her with him. But if she was going to escape with him, he needed to give her some kind of hope that it could work.

"Look," he said, leaning forward. "Ven you tried escaping, did you try disabling the doors in their engineering room?" It baffled him that a ship could operate on a room as tiny as the one he'd seen, but he knew that sometimes, powerful things came in small packages.

Lauren leaned forward, intrigued. "I don't know how," she said. "Could..." Her voice trailed off, as though voicing it out loud would make her hope real, and she feared that. "Do you know how to do it?"

Chekov grinned at her. "I'm not an engineer," he said. "I'm a nawigator. But I shadowed our ship's chief engineer a few years back. And I'm fairly good at technological things like zis."

Some of the hardness of Lauren's expression faded, and she started to look a bit more like a teenage girl should. Looking around, she said, "I know how we can get out of here."

Sighing in relief, Chekov said, "I vas hoping you vould say zat. Because my plan began once ve got out ze door."

Lauren walked over to the wall and started pulling at one of the panels. Chekov saw, upon closer inspection, that it was slightly loose. She glanced over at him, and he smiled.

"You're a smart kid," he told her, thinking how weird it was to be saying that to someone else. Actually, it was just weird being the elder of the two in this situation. But he was beginning to see why Kirk felt so responsible for the crew. Watching Lauren work, Chekov thought about his captain and friend. Hopefully they would meet the _Enterprise_ while they were heading away from the Orion vessel. If not, he knew Kirk would go to Geshaash. He knew his captain, and there was no way he'd let them get away that easily.

However, Chekov wouldn't mind minimalizing the risk of being sold before his friends even got there.

Lauren looked up at him. "We'd better hope there's no one on the other side of that door," she said. "Every once in a while, they send patrols through. But they're arrogant. They have complete confidence in their technology."

Chekov nodded. "Vell, ve'll just have to crush zat confidence, von't ve?"

Lauren gave him a small smile and turned back to her work. Chekov leaned in and saw that she was messing with the wires that activated the eye scanner Moloz had used before. He shook his head in amazement.

"Vhere did you learn to do zat?" he asked. Not a lot of people nowadays with no engineering experience could know exactly what strings to pull in this situation.

"Honestly, I just do it when I'm bored," she said. "But the first time I tried to escape, I memorized what I did with each wire. Have you ever heard of the term 'hotwiring a car'?"

He nodded.

"Well, it's essentially like that, only with a locking device."

The door slid open, and they peered around the corridor cautiously. No Orion stirred. Chekov briefly wondered what time it was. Were most of them on sleeping shift or something?

"Okay," he whispered. "Ze first door ve'll pass is zeir veapons bay. Ve grab a pair of phasers, stun whoewer is engineering, and zen disable the doors. Once zat is done, ve'll run to ze shuttle bay."

"You can fly a shuttle?" Lauren asked, skeptically.

Chekov nailed her with a withering gaze. "I'll have you know, I've piloted a shuttle through ze atmosphere of a planet populated vith active wolcanoes. Zis vill be child's play."

Lauren raised an eyebrow at him, and he was forced to amend that statement. "Okay, I may be exaggerating a little. But yes, I can fly a shuttle."

The pair of them slunk down the hall, Chekov first, keeping an eye ahead of them, Lauren watching from behind. As they passed a cell door, Chekov heard a pang from inside, and a pang of guilt overtook him briefly. Shoving it aside, he told himself that once they escaped, they could bring an entire starship back with them to disband whatever trading ring there was on Geshaash.

They were at the weapons bay door. Chekov poked his head inside and peered around, then motioned Lauren to go ahead of him. She walked up to the phaser banks and pulled out two.

"You sure you only want them on stun?" she asked drily.

"I vish I knew vether you vere serious or not," he replied.

"A little bit of both, if I'm being perfectly honest."

Once again, they crept stealthily toward the next door, which happened to be engineering. Chekov breathed a sigh of relief that Lauren appeared to be fairly light on her feet. He peered around the corner and found that only one Orion sat at the console in the engineering room. He wished he could take a mental note of how this ship worked for Mr. Scott. The Scotsman would love to get his hands on this thing!

Slowly turning so he was facing the interior of the room, Chekov tried to calm his breath as he raised his phaser...

Looking back on it, Chekov would recall bitterly how that _would_ be the moment the engineer chose to turn around. That _would_ be the moment Moloz would order a patrol to come down the hallway. But in that instant, all he could do was mutter under his breath, " _Chert mozvi_ ," and push Lauren down the hallway. "Run!"

She didn't need to be told twice. Chekov knew that their chances of escape were moderately slim at this point, but what were they supposed to do, run back to the cell and hope that compliance might get them out of whatever repercussions might come? There was still a dim chance that they could get to the shuttle bay and board one before the Orions caught them –

A very dim chance. And one that Chekov felt slipping away just as sure as the phaser blast to his side. The force of it knocked him against the far wall. He slid to the floor, dazed but not unconscious.

He thought he heard Lauren calling his name, then shrieking, but everything seemed to be a blur. As his vision cleared, he saw Moloz walking out the door directly across from him – the bridge, Chekov realized vaguely through his pain. Moloz turned, and Chekov followed his gaze to where another Orion stood, holding Lauren with her arms pinned to her sides.

"Take her to my quarters," Moloz growled at the other Orion. To Lauren, he said, "I'll deal with you later."

His gaze then settled back on Chekov, and Chekov had the sinking feeling he wasn't getting out of this one with just phaser burns.

Moloz hauled him up and dragged him back to the cell. He slid the door shut behind them and shoved Chekov up against the back wall. For a good two minutes he just stood there, staring at him. Finally, the stillness in the room was broken as Moloz began to slowly advance toward him.

"Do you know what most of my customers looking to buy slaves for their mines look for in a potential candidate?" he asked. Chekov knew he probably should have seen the punch to the gut coming, but that didn't stop his eyes from widening in surprise as it hit. Doubling over in pain and groaning, he started sinking toward the floor, but Moloz dragged him upright again.

"Bruises," Moloz hissed before kneeing him in the exact same spot his punch had landed. Chekov cried out, doubled over again, and Moloz delivered what felt like a karate chop to his collar bone. This time the Orion trader did nothing to stop him falling to the ground. Chekov only briefly had time to wonder whether that was a good sign or a bad sign before Moloz continued.

"You see, human," he growled, drawing his foot back and delivering a stinging kick to Chekov's side, " – my clients – who are miners –"

With every pause, Moloz lashed out again, and every time Chekov moved to avoid him, he only found some worse place to sink his foot into.

" – want a certain amount of toughness in their slaves. So – they look for the ones with bruises." Another pause, another kick. "Because – that means they've survived beatings. The worse the bruising – the harder the beating. And the better shape you're in after – " One final kick, and then Moloz stepped away. "The more you go for on the market."

Chekov almost thought he'd be getting a respite until Moloz leaned down and wrapped a single green hand around his neck, cutting off his airway. As Chekov choked and struggled for air, Moloz bent down to whisper in his ear.

"Never doubt my willingness to punish you, and punish you severely," he growled. "I won't kill you, but I'll make sure you're just as battered as possible before we arrive at Geshaash. I want them to know how much you can survive."

Black spots began to appear in Chekov's vision, and he wondered just how true of a statement that "won't kill you" part was.

"So, can I safely assume that this won't happen again?"

Not seeing much potential for success even if it did happen again, Chekov nodded. Moloz smiled wickedly and released him.

"I'm glad we're in agreement," he said as the door slid open and he strode out.

Chekov gasped in air, savoring every breath he pulled in as he curled around his stomach wounds. Every part of his body ached. He imagined that was the goal, considering what Moloz had told him about the desirability of bruises. His thoughts strayed to Lauren, and he wondered what Moloz would do to her now. While he didn't think it would be as severe of a beating as he'd been given, he didn't want to picture what "punishment" consisted of for her.

As Chekov lay there, unable to move for the moment, he felt trapped for the first time in this entire endeavor. Looking back, he cursed himself in every tongue he knew – Standard, Russian, and some Klingon he'd picked up from Uhura – that he hadn't thought to wait a bit longer to escape. He'd just been so determined to escape and to get Lauren off with him that he'd let it cloud his judgment. Now he had paid, and she would be paying soon.

And he'd continue to pay for it for a long time. Chekov knew he'd only get one chance of breaking out, and he had blown it.

Chekov mentally calculated the distance they'd mentioned to Geshaash, and how long it would take the _Enterprise_ to get there at maximum warp. His heart sank into his throbbing stomach as he realized that even if they'd left immediately, there was no way they'd get there before Moloz's deadline was up.

His only hope now lay in delaying being sold as long as possible until his friends got there. Because, if Chekov knew anything about this crew he'd been serving with for five years now, they were coming.

It was what he would do for any of them.


	4. Duty

It was day three of their journey to Geshaash, and Bones had all but ordered Jim off of the bridge. Jim wasn't going to lie, he _was_ going a bit stir crazy, but he honestly didn't think he was to blame there. If Scotty got to mutter things about blowing "those slimy Orions" to kingdom come, Jim didn't see why he had to remain much more under control.

Still, once he got back to his own quarters, he had to admit a weight had come off of his shoulders. He knew Sulu was trustworthy with the conn, and had no doubt of their getting to Geshaash just as fast as the _Enterprise_ could carry them. It was just a question of whether even that would be too late.

Jim had been back in his quarters, pacing for about five minutes, when the anger and fear that had been lying just underneath the surface for the past three days bubbled over. Letting out a growl of rage, he lashed out a kick at the nearest structure. Unfortunately, that happened to be his table leg, which was firmly bolted to the floor. Not only did it fail to give the satisfying feeling it would had it gone clattering across the room, but it also delivered a jar to his system with a shooting pain through his foot.

Fortunately, that seemed to jerk him out of his stupor as he stumbled into a chair and sat there, massaging his foot and breathing hard. Of course, that didn't mean he did much more than curse the Orion Syndicate to the still air around him, but at least he could form semi-intelligent thought again.

There were few times in his life that Jim Kirk had felt absolutely helpless. They usually came right along with the times that he had no idea what to do, and this was no exception. All Jim knew was that Chekov was slipping farther and farther away the more time that passed, and until they got to Geshaash, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Even then, anything he did might be done too late. The frustration ate at his insides, like something parasitic.

Jim had to direct his thoughts toward something else, _anything_ else. But they just kept circling back to Chekov. So, instead of focusing on the current state they were in, Jim let his mind take a backward journey in time.

He hadn't always given Chekov the credit he'd deserved. Jim had always felt the bitter pull of regret for that, but he'd felt as though he'd made up for it on this mission so far. It had been three years, after all, so he imagined if he asked Chekov about it, his friend wouldn't even remember when Jim had had less confidence in him.

He hadn't even put two and two together after he and Sulu landed in the transporter room. There had just been way too much going on, what with the destruction of Vulcan, and Spock's mother. Of course, Jim had noticed the kid at the manual controls, but for some reason it hadn't quite clicked with him that Chekov had just saved his life, and Sulu's. In fact, it didn't click with him until after the whole ordeal was over.

He'd taken measures then to make sure that no one ever cast aspersions on Chekov's abilities because of how old he was, but even that wasn't the end of Jim's being a bit of an ass to his navigator. He was torn between sighing in irritation at himself and laughing when he remembered "promoting" Chekov to chief engineer before they went after Khan. Jim didn't even know what had possessed him to do so. He'd likely had plenty of good candidates in the engineering department itself after Scotty had quit. So why hadn't he picked one of them?

Jim still couldn't figure out what he'd been thinking, but, all things considered, he stuck by that decision. None of what had happened in Engineering had actually been Chekov's fault, and, once again, Chekov had saved his life and Scotty's. No, with what he'd been given, Chekov had actually done a fairly good job. Jim knew Scotty hadn't let him hear the end of it. "What did ye do to my ship, laddie?" "Ye've got to treat the Enterprise like a _lady_ , wee man. A _lady_." And then, after the barbs, there would be, "Have ye ever considered a career in Engineering?" Scotty would've loved it if Chekov would have joined him in the lower parts of the ship. But no, Chekov had insisted his place was on the bridge.

Jim was personally okay with that one. He would have been losing a damn fine navigator, for the sake of gaining another brilliant engineer.

Jim frowned. Chekov's review was long overdue. He reasonably should have been promoted to Lieutenant ages ago, probably before Altamid. Jim had kept putting it off because...because what? Because he'd had more important things to do? He hadn't promoted any of his senior crew for a while, he now thought. And it wasn't like any of them didn't deserve it. They'd all performed nothing but admirably since the start of this mission.

Well, there was that one time Scotty and Chekov had gotten into a bar fight with some Klingons who'd insulted the _Enterprise_ and Uhura had bought a Tribble that infested them all. And when Bones had accidentally misdiagnosed himself with a fatal disease. Also, Spock had failed to explain the concept of _pon farr_ to Jim – which led to a _very_ awkward walk-in on Jim's part. And then there was the time Sulu had fallen victim to an entity that made him lose his inhibitions and chase Chekov around the rec room with a sword.

But all of that was _highly_ beside the point. Jim would see to it that they were all immediately promoted as soon as this was all smoothed out, and Chekov would be the first one he'd take care of. If they got him back.

At that thought, Jim rose out of his chair with vehemence and began pacing again. What did he mean, _if_? No, they were getting Chekov back. If the _Enterprise_ had to go rogue and chase him down to wherever it was Moloz sold him to, they'd get him back. Jim owed him far too much to do less.

A beep rose from his communications screen at the other end of his quarters, and Jim remembered the message from Carol. In all the commotion, he still hadn't had a chance to listen to it. Now that he thought about it, it might be a good idea to contact Carol and just get his thoughts out on the table. She at least deserved to know what he was about to do. After all, they'd never said that they were completely done, just...just taking a break. With a pang of regret, Jim realized he hadn't contacted her after Altamid. Maybe that was what this message was about.

Jim activated the message. Carol's image popped up on the screen, and Jim's longing threatened to drag any and all focus he'd managed to scrape up from him. _I miss you_ , he thought. Yes, that was the first thing he'd say in his reply.

"Jim," she said. "I just got word of your encounter with Balthazar Edison. I can't believe – I'm just so glad you're all right. You and the rest of the senior crew."

Jim's stomach swooped. He'd have to tell her about Chekov when he replied – not something he was looking forward to, but she deserved to know. If anything else, she deserved to know what he was about to do.

"I'm so sorry about the lost crewmembers, Jim. I really am. I know from experience how hard it is on you when you lose even one of them, but to lose more than half – " she shuddered on screen. "Just know that if you need anything, I'm here. That sounds _so_ cliché, I know, but it's true. It's never stopped being true."

On the screen, she looked down, as if finding her hands rather fascinating all of a sudden. Much like Paris had done before all but giving them permission to go after Chekov. But something told Jim whatever Carol was about to say wasn't going to be as welcome of news as that.

"Come on, Carol," he muttered under his breath. "Look at me. Let me see those eyes."

As if hearing him from all those miles away, over the barriers of time, she did look up at him. It wasn't nearly the same as having her there in person, but Jim still felt the jolt to his gut he did every time. Damn, he loved those eyes. Not for the first or last time, he wished she were here.

"I, um...," Carol began, trailing off. "I wanted to tell you this, but I wasn't sure how. It's not something someone should hear over communicator. It's something you should hear in person, but...after Altamid, I knew I couldn't wait. Jim...I'm pregnant."

If he'd thought looking into her eyes had caused a jolt to his gut, it was nothing compared to hearing that. Jim's jaw slackened, and he almost slid off of his perch on the edge of the chair. She was... _what_?

"Don't worry, it's definitely yours," Carol continued, her mouth quirking up a little. "I haven't been seeing anyone since I left. Actually, um...I've already been able to determine the gender. It's a boy. Jim, I... I don't want him to grow up without a father. I want you to be a part of his life. And I know that will be difficult, with both of our careers. You're meant to be in command of a starship, and I'm meant to be here, but..." Her voice trailed off again. "I just want him to be raised by a better man than I was. And I know you'll never lead him astray. I know you'll never let him think you're anything other than you are."

Jim found himself almost involuntarily reaching out and touching the screen. He could feel her anguish, even now. She wanted this child – _their son_ – to be raised better than she had been. And Jim, though it hadn't quite sunk in that he was going to be a _father_ , couldn't help but agree. Not on how she'd been raised, but how he had been. He'd always sworn that if he had children, they'd have their father in their life. He wouldn't deprive them of what he'd always wanted.

"Anyway, I just wanted to let you know," Carol said. "I figured you should know before you go and do anything rash. And don't even try to tell me you won't," she added, giving him that hard stare she always did before he was about to do something crazy. "I know you too well, James. So please, for our child's sake, stay safe. I love you."

The screen went blank, and Jim sat there, eyes wide, perfectly still.

 _He was going to be a father._

This threw a further wrench in things, and one that he'd never seen coming. There were at least seven people James Kirk would risk his commission and his life for, and now there were eight. But that also meant there were two people that he needed to stay alive for now. And while he would risk his life if it meant getting Chekov back...it now also meant that his son would grow up without a father, just like he had.

Pressing down on his communicator, he said, "Kirk to Med Bay."

"McCoy here."

"Bones, meet me at the bar."

Not for the first time during this disaster of a week, and not for the last time, Jim Kirk needed a drink.

* * *

Bones was already there when Jim arrived. One of the many things Jim appreciated about his best friend, the man was perfectly willing to drop anything to come and meet him. Jim realized he'd forgotten about the epidemic raging through Med Bay, and felt a pang of guilt, but brushed it to the side. Bones had already appraised him that the disease wasn't deadly. He needed to process this with someone.

Bones eyed him up and down. "You know, Jim, not that you haven't looked awful all week, but you look like you've been hit by a train."

Jim gave a short, dry laugh. "I'm not so sure I haven't been," he muttered, pouring himself a shot as he sat down on the bar stool. "I don't suppose we've got any Romulan ale left?" he asked, half-heartedly joking.

"One of the many tragic losses at Altamid," Bones quipped. "And, as a note, Chekov hasn't restocked his supply with anything but vodka yet."

"Do you go through everyone's locker, or is it just his?" Jim asked, sincerely hoping the answer was just Chekov's.

Bones shrugged. "Everyone once in a while I'll move everything in Spock's one centimeter to the left. It would be more entertaining if I could see his face after, but..." He raised his own shot glass to Jim in a toast and drained it. "I get satisfaction out of it anyway." Setting the glass down, he grew serious once more. "So, what's up?"

Jim looked down at the brown liquid swirling in the glass. "I'm going to be a father," he said, almost as though he were trying to convince himself it was true.

Bones stared at him for a few moments, then his eyes widened. "Wait, _what_?"

Jim sighed. "Carol's pregnant. It's mine. It's a boy. Bones, I'm going to be a – a dad."

Bones processed that for a few minutes, then let out a breath neither of them was aware he'd been holding. "You're not actually kidding. There's going to be a little person running around that's half you, half Carol? That's...got to be the most terrifying thing I've heard in ages."

"Yeah, you're telling me," Jim muttered, rubbing the crease in between his eyebrows and trying to get rid of this headache. Hoping to help it out a bit, Jim downed his shot. _Yeah, no. Just made it worse._

"Well, then...congratulations, Jim," Bones said. "But I get the feeling this isn't exactly welcome news at the moment. What I'm wondering is why."

Jim took a moment before he answered. How did one explain this?

"We've got to get Chekov back, Bones," he said. "I'll never forgive myself if we don't. But... I'll also never forgive myself if something happens to me while we're doing it and my son grows up without his father."

Bones just sat there and listened, another of the many things Jim appreciated about him. He had great timing when it came to knowing when to speak up and give a good sample of his awful bedside manner, and he also knew when to just let Jim talk.

"I also know if I send a team down to Geshaash that I'm not leading, I'll be going nuts up here waiting for word. And if I send my crew into the line of fire for the express purpose of preserving myself, I'll never forgive myself for _that_ either. And what if it makes me resent my kid?"

"Okay, I'm going to stop you right there," Bones said. "First of all, I'm a dad. And there's no way you could ever resent your son for something that wasn't his fault. If I don't resent Joanna for making me feel as though I had to stay with her mother all those years in a crappy marriage, _you're_ not going to represent Jim Junior for anyone's deaths.

"But here's another thing..." Bones trailed off, as though deciding whether the effect of what he was going to say was worth it, and then plowed onward. "Do you admire your dad for the reason he died?"

Jim was caught off guard. "Of course I do," he said.

"Sure, you're angry with him for leaving you and your mom behind, but you recognize that he didn't have a choice."

"Where are you going with this, Bones?"

"I'm just saying...You have a duty to your son. But you also have a duty to your crew. And your friends. Think of your kid, but think about Chekov, too. And think about yourself. What, exactly, can you live with? Potentially dying trying to save Chekov and leaving your son without a father? Letting others take the blow so you can be around for your son and potentially still not getting Chekov back? Or leaving him to fate altogether?"

Bones rose. "I can tell you which one the rest of us _won't_ be happy with. Incidentally, though... I'm kind of looking forward to being an uncle."

Jim raised an eyebrow at him. "Uncle?"

"Oh, come on. You know the kid's going to have about six surrogate aunts and uncles," Bones said. "Uhura might have a fit if you don't let him call her Aunt Nyota."

Jim half-grinned. "Point taken. Get back to Med Bay, Bones. And thanks."

"Hey, why do you think I followed you to space, Jim? Somebody had to be here to keep you sane. Just don't go back to the bridge until you've made your decision. I'd rather you not make Ensign Reynolds cry again."

Jim didn't leave the bar for another two hours. The crewmembers came and went, and they stared, wondering whether the strain of this situation had made the captain snap, but Jim didn't notice. He had a bit too much on his mind.


	5. Identity

Moloz hadn't returned for the rest of the journey to Geshaash. Chekov was okay with that for a while, but it turned out that it wasn't necessarily a respite. The Orions did feed their prisoners, but apparently there was a heavy price to pay for meals.

The first time had been no more than five hours after his beating. Chekov had sat in the corner of his cell, trying to clear his mind. However, it tended to go at the speed of light and not stop for anyone, including himself, so that was a rather difficult task. But anything was better than contemplating his moderately hopeless situation, so Chekov considered it worth the effort.

When the door slid open, he jumped, jerked out of his trance-like state. The Orion in the doorway gave him a mocking grin. Chekov, not for the first time that day, cursed himself in various different languages for showing weakness. This one would probably think he was easy to intimidate now. Well, he would simply show him differently.

However, upon standing up to greet his captor, Chekov found that the Orion stood at least a foot taller than him and was very, _very_ well-built. Chekov wasn't exactly out of shape, but no one honest would call him a giant of any proportion. Not showing intimidation became a bit more difficult.

The Orion set a bowl of something that appeared to be an algae mutation on the bench that now stood between him and Chekov. The smell wafted up into Chekov's nose, and he was surprised to find that for how disgusting it looked, it smelled rather appetizing. His stomach growled traitorously. The Orion appeared to be eyeing him up and down, as if waiting to be dismissed. Thinking it a bit weird that he was waiting to be thanked, Chekov merely gave a nod and went for the bowl.

"Not yet," the Orion said, in that smooth voice they all possessed. Once, Chekov had found it alluring. Now it grated on his ears. He looked up at the Orion, who motioned for him to come forward. Chekov stepped around the bench, frowning. This smelled decidedly more suspicious than the sludge he'd just been delivered.

Grinning, the Orion said one word: "Kneel."

That word instilled that defiance that was always riding under Chekov's surface. He didn't move. He didn't say anything. He merely stared directly up into the Orion's eyes, unblinkingly.

The Orion delivered a swift uppercut to his jaw, knocking him back against the wall. Dazed, Chekov attempted to get his bearings again, wiggling his jaw around to make sure it wasn't broken or dislocated.

"It'll be fine," the Orion said, rubbing his knuckles as though he'd taken the brunt of that hit. "We're trained to not beat our slaves to the point of disabling them. I hit you just hard enough to hurt, maybe bruise, but not seriously injure."

"Zat makes me feel _so_ much better," Chekov spat at him, recoiling at the taste of blood growing in his mouth.

The Orion shrugged. "You want to eat, you have to pay the price for it. Just the way we run things around here." He gestured toward the bowl. "That'll keep you strong, no matter what we do to you before we reach Geshaash. Might as well get used to this."

As he walked out and Chekov stood, making his way back to where the food waited, he couldn't help but think he heard an implied, _This is what your life looks like_ now after the last sentence. And in that moment, he found another thing to focus on, something that he didn't have to clear his mind to forget because he needed to write it on his conscience and not lose sight of it for the world.

 _Survival._

So, when the Orions came back with more food throughout the journey, he obeyed whatever they told him to do. He thought it might spare him a beating, but all they were doing was positioning him in whichever way they wanted for the blows they dealt. Apparently that was the price of food: A single blow, wherever they pleased.

Chekov wondered what they had done with Lauren. They never returned her to his cell – not that he'd expected them to, after the pair of them had plotted escape. But the fact that there only seemed to be one prisoner in each cell led him to believe that their cells were full. So where were they keeping her now?

He wanted to say it didn't matter, that it had nothing to do with him. But, deep down, he probably knew he'd never see her again. Not only had he blown his chances of escape, he'd blown hers, as well.

He was brooding on the matter of Lauren when the door to his cell slid open, and this time, Moloz was standing there, a sickeningly eager smile on his face.

"Time to go, human."

* * *

Geshaash was located on a small planet, smaller than Earth, in some part of space that the Federation had not yet traveled to. However, before they'd left Yorktown, a new feature had been installed in the navigation systems that enabled them to take the headings that had been marked in any vessel the Federation had captured since they'd began working on the project ten years previously. Chekov had remembered going through the entire setup with Sulu, the pair of them exclaiming over it like a pair of first-year cadets. Dr. McCoy, who had been on the bridge at that point, had eyed them like they were crazy.

Yes, that new feature had been the source of Chekov's excitement for a good – well, week, considering that was how long they'd been back on the mission before this misfortune befell him.

Now, it might prove to be his salvation. Without it, there was no way the _Enterprise_ could find their way to Geshaash, an as-yet uncharted colony.

Moloz ushered him into a shuttle. Through the shuttle windows, Chekov had the chance to view Geshaash for the first time. The planet was small, as he'd already surmised, and covered by mostly water, much like the Orion homeworld. There were smatterings of islands here and there. As they entered the atmosphere, Chekov vaguely wondered which island he'd be taken to.

Moloz directed the shuttle to one of the larger islands. Turning to Chekov, he began speaking as though he were a tour guide.

"Not all of these islands are property of the Syndicate," he told him. "Most aren't, actually. Some are still inhabited by the indigenous race. They make up the majority of them. Then there's the second largest portion, which belong to your average Orion settler. Only about fifteen percent of them are controlled by the Syndicate. And of them, this is the biggest one."

Chekov looked out as they flew over the island's surface. It was craggy and rocky, but for the city smack in the middle of it. Moloz smoothly pulled in over the buildings, and Chekov thought it looked run down, at best. Structures were crumbling or looking rather close to it. Yet life still bustled within the city, if one could call what Chekov saw "life." People of all the Federation's races, plus ones he had never personally encountered, were led along in chains. Orions stood on the sidewalks, usually with some form of bottle in their hands. There were men, women, children of all kinds, along with others that he couldn't necessarily tell.

They flew over a large amphitheater, and Moloz turned around to find Chekov staring down at it. He smirked unpleasantly.

"That's where you'll be, come dawn tomorrow," he said. "Take a good look. I'll go a bit slower."

Chekov did take a good look, and his heart dropped into his stomach. What he saw wasn't pretty.

People stripped of most articles of clothing were lined up behind a podium, their wrists in chains, but their ankles free. Chekov wondered what kept them from bolting, then saw the Orions standing behind them, phaser rifles pressed against their backs. _That explains a lot,_ he thought wryly.

A Vulcan was hauled up to a platform in the center of the amphitheater, and Chekov's blood began to boil once more. The Vulcan reminded him of Spock, of course, but even more than that, the Vulcans were a typically peaceful people. Ever since the destruction of their planet, Chekov had hated to see any Vulcan persecuted for no purpose, as any form of offense against a Vulcan often was. As the Orions sitting in front of the platform began to place offers on the Vulcan, Chekov turned away, having had enough.

Tomorrow he'd be on that auction block, unless the _Enterprise_ got here before that. He wondered just how much of it was in his power, if he could make sure he didn't go on the market before the cavalry came riding in.

The absurdity of it all almost made Chekov laugh. Absolutely none of this was in his control, and he'd be a fool to think it was.

Moloz was still watching him. "Can't handle it? I'd develop a stronger stomach by tomorrow, if I were you."

Chekov glared at him. "I can handle it. Anyvay, shouldn't you be vatching vhere you're driwing zis sing?"

Moloz shook his head, amused, but he turned around and focused on the landing bay in front of him. "You have spirit, human. I'll give you that. It'll be a shame when that dies out."

"Vat makes you sink zat it vill die out?" Chekov growled. "Beliewe it or not, I'm actually tougher zan I look."

"Never said you weren't tough," Moloz said. "But the will breaks in all of our slaves eventually, trust me. You've got fire. But fairly soon, that fire will die, and all that will be left in your soul is a black hole."

Chekov thought he heard a trace of something in Moloz's voice, something like...experience. "You make it sound as zough you know."

Moloz let out a low, humorless laugh. "You know, Orions have nothing against trading their own. Non-members of the Syndicate, anyway. Maybe I _do_ know."

Frowning, Chekov looked back toward the rapidly disappearing amphitheater as they descended into the landing bay. "Vy are you telling me zis?"

Moloz shrugged, his back still turned. "I don't know. Maybe because you haven't cowered yet. I mean, most of the prisoners I give that sound of a beating to cringe away from me every chance they get. Not you, though. Like I said, you've got fire. Once a slave loses that, they only want one thing: vengeance. My guess is you've never had anything you've wanted to avenge before."

Chekov glared down at the floor. "You know nothing about me." He had had _plenty_ in his life to avenge.

The shuttle touched down, and Moloz glanced down at him. "Huh. Maybe I'm wrong." He stood up and walked over to Chekov, hauling him to his feet. For a minute he gripped his arm, almost like a friend. Not harshly, but firmly. Moloz looked into his eyes, and Chekov thought he could see the black hole the Orion had been talking about.

"You got a name, human?" Moloz asked.

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. "Chekov."

Moloz raised an eyebrow. "Weird name."

"You're one to talk."

Moloz looked as though he wanted to take that humorously, as it was intended, but the look of amusement faded quickly, replaced by a hardened one. His hand moved up to Chekov's shoulder, and he shoved him toward the shuttle door.

"My advice? Forget about it. Because wherever you end up, in the mines, or as some high-and-mighty's human plaything, they will strip you of your identity. Slowly, little by little, you'll lose who you are. And if you ever get the chance to reclaim it...you won't want it back."

Chekov trudged along in silence until they got what would be his home for the next few hours. Before Moloz closed the door on him, Chekov asked, "So, where did you end up, then?"

Moloz turned away, but Chekov barely heard him say, "Mines. Plaything. Whatever they wanted."

Then the door slid shut, and Chekov was left to wonder what the rest of the story was – and, more importantly to him at the moment, how Moloz had escaped.

* * *

The cell was much more primitive than the last one had been. There weren't exactly bars on the door, but there might as well have been. Chekov felt as though he were imprisoned in medieval times back on Earth. The walls were made of some kind of thick stone he didn't recognize – but then, Sulu had always been the geologist, not him. He'd been more interested in the botany rants Sulu went on, but his attention span had been decidedly lax when it came to the geology. He wished he'd listened better.

There was one small window just at Chekov's eye level. That didn't have bars, either. Or glass. He'd tested the waters earlier. A nasty shock had quickly informed him that it was a force field. Not a dangerous one, but certainly unpleasant.

He'd taken to pacing, wondering about what Moloz had told him earlier. More than the trader's story, he wanted to know how he'd escaped. But he wouldn't lie to himself and say that was it. A part of him wanted to know what awaited him either way. Okay, a very large part of him.

He'd been wrestling with what would be better – mines, or sex slave? Chekov had once had a thing for Orions – especially Ensign Desha, the science officer whose quarters were just down the hall from him. _That_ hadn't ended in anything but humiliation, but it had only taken the last four days to completely quench whatever he'd had for the people before. No, sex slavery was not ideal.

But the mines...there was more of a chance of getting lost among the masses. Losing his identity, just as Moloz had said. Less of a chance of escape, too. Unless he could convince Moloz to tell him _how_ he'd escaped himself...

Chekov's thoughts were interrupted by the door grinding open. Any hope he had of getting Moloz to give up his secrets drained away.

The Orion in question stood in the doorway, and any humaneness Chekov had seen in him earlier was gone. There was only hard, cold, cruel determination.

Moloz was eyeing him up and down. "Well, Mr. Chekov," he said. "Let's see how you're looking. I want to make sure you're properly prepared for the market tomorrow." He grabbed Chekov's jaw, still stinging slightly from the uppercut he'd received that first day. Chekov grit his teeth. He would _not_ show pain. He would _not_ show weakness.

"Your lower lip has a split in it," Moloz commented. "Pity. That won't deter anyone looking for a mines slave, but, anyone looking to buy you based on attractiveness, well..." Moloz appraised him, and Chekov bit back his revulsion. "No, you're still decent enough, for a human." He gestured toward Chekov's abdomen. "Lift up your shirt for me."

Wordlessly, Chekov did so. Moloz shook his head. "No, no, that won't do," he commented.

For a moment, Chekov was nearly offended. It wasn't like he'd been letting himself go lately or anything. Then he realized what Moloz was getting at with a sinking feeling.

His bruises had started to fade already.

Chekov let his shirt drop, but it was too late. There was a murderous look in Moloz's eyes.

"Clearly, those I sent to feed you weren't hitting you hard enough," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. His first punch went straight to Chekov's gut. It was hard enough to tear through the gold uniform and draw blood, throwing Chekov up against the wall. He gave a cry of pain as he went, knowing that it would only get worse.

This time, however, he wasn't going down without a fight. He lashed out with his foot at Moloz, catching him in the stomach, nearly identical to the spot where Moloz had caught him. Moloz, however, only gave a small grunt before catching Chekov's foot and flipping him onto his stomach on the floor. Chekov felt a boot grinding into the back of his calf, a pain almost like a muscle cramp, but worse, shooting through his entire right leg. An agonized scream tore itself from somewhere deep within his throat.

He could handle pain like this, endure it for a time. But a lifetime of it was not something he relished the idea of. If there was a way out of it on his own, he would certainly take it, but at the moment, Chekov saw no possibility of that.

So as the scream ricocheted off of the walls of his cell, Chekov willed it to somehow travel to his captain's ears. Because as Moloz moved on to his left leg, he could feel time slowly slipping away from them. Time was a precious commodity that they did not have.

As soon as Moloz let up, Chekov rolled over and lashed out again with his now aching legs, but the attack had taken all of the strength out of them. Moloz grabbed him by the hair and hauled him to his feet.

"You want to fight me?" Moloz screamed. "Good! Maybe they'll put you in the arenas, for sport! Just like they did me!"

Chekov was so taken off guard for a moment, realizing that Moloz had actually revealed that part of his past, he was unprepared for the next hit. Moloz jabbed him in the side, stimulating some nerve that sent a huge shock wave of agony to his brain. He wasn't as slow in reacting this time, however. He grabbed Moloz and twisted his arm behind his back, sending a silent thank you to the Academy for that physical combat course every cadet had been required to take. He sent a silent thank you to Captain Kirk, as well, for insisting that he keep those skills polished and ready at a moment's notice.

Moloz let out an unearthly growl and turned out of the twist, kicking Chekov's legs out from under him again. The kicks kept coming. Chekov had a choice: Attempt to shield himself, or attempt to fight back. He tried grabbing Moloz's feet and yanking them out from under him, so they were at least on a level playing field, but every time he took his arms away from shielding his abdomen, Moloz would tear into him again.

So Chekov went with shielding himself, though somehow it didn't seem to work. Moloz just found some new, unforeseen place to sink his boot into. This went on much longer than the first beating Moloz had given him. The pain was blinding. He needed to distract himself somehow, but how?

Suddenly a slide show began playing behind his sealed eyelids. _Kirk, sitting in the captain's chair and exuding a sense of safety to his crew. Spock, training him as a backup science officer. Uhura, talking to him in Russian when they were off duty, because she knew he felt more comfortable speaking his native language than he ever had with Standard. McCoy, with his awful bedside manner, patching Kirk, Chekov, and Sulu up after an away mission gone wrong. Scotty, constantly trying to get him to switch over to Engineering. Sulu, just being around in general, like the brother he'd always wanted. The Enterprise. Russia, when he was a kid. His mother, when she was still alive. His father, before her death had turned him cold._ Anyplace and anyone he had ever considered home, Chekov played through his head as Moloz beat him over and over again.

Finally, the kicking stopped, and Moloz stepped back. "Hand me your shirt," he ordered.

Groaning, Chekov managed to sit up, pull his shirt over his head, and hand it to the Orion holding his hand out for it. It only occurred to him after it left his grasp that the uniform was a bigger part of his identity than he cared to admit. He was already losing it.

The door slid open. Chekov didn't care enough to look and see who was there, but after a few moments he felt a wet cloth dropped on his stomach.

"Clean yourself up," Moloz growled. "They'll want to see bruises, not blood."

The door slid shut again, and Chekov presumed he was alone. Rather than obeying, he lay back against the floor, letting the slideshow play again.

Kirk. _"I know you don't have as much life experience as the rest of us, kid. But you can do it. I know you can."_

Spock. _"You have a great affinity for the sciences, Mr. Chekov. Would training to be my backup officer be of interest?"_

Uhura. _"I actually speak Russian. Would you mind if I tried out my skills by speaking it with you? I've never actually had the chance to use it in real life."_

Scotty. _"I still say ye'd make a great engineer, laddie! And yet Spock is the only one who could get ye to switch departments? What's with that?"_

McCoy. _"Dammit, kid, you're turning out to be just as bad as Jim! Now hold still while I run your bone through the regenerator. I swear, if he's this bad of an influence on you – "_

Sulu. _"Chekov, Ben and I want you to be Demora's godfather. You're the closest thing to a brother I've ever had."_

This was how he'd keep his identity. No matter what happened tomorrow, no matter where he ended up, he'd keep remembering them. They would keep him going.

Because, no matter what, he would get back to his family.


	6. Plans

The stir-crazy that had so gripped Jim was beginning to affect the entire bridge crew. He'd returned to his position after taking his prescribed period of contemplation from Bones only to find that even Spock was on edge. That only further proved the overall gravity of the situation, when his first officer was ruffled. So, for the next ten hours, Jim grit his teeth and attempted to bear the rest of this journey.

Finally, Sulu made the long-awaited announcement. "Two hours to arrival on Geshaash, Captain."

Jim rose from the captain's chair before he'd even finished his sentence. "Mr. Spock, Mr. Sulu, Lieutenant Uhura, you're with me. Mr. Rosen, you have the conn until I can send Mr. Scott up to the bridge. I'll be in the conference room."

Spock kept pace with him. "Captain, have you come to a conclusion about the particulars of this rescue mission?"

"All in good time, Mr. Spock," Jim told him. "All in good time."

It had been one of the most gut-wrenching decisions of his life. But in the end, Jim decided he wouldn't be able to live with himself if anything happened to Chekov or any of the other crewmembers because he decided to stay out of it. While he didn't think it would make him resent his son, he still thought it might cast a bit of a damper on their relationship. He knew that Chekov would probably tell him it would have been worth it. Chekov knew what Jim had gone through, not ever knowing his father, and how important it had been to him to be there for his own, then-theoretical, children.

But in the end, Jim hoped that Carol would find what he was about to do worth it, too. And if he didn't make it back, there was no reason for her to know he'd gotten her message about the baby.

That part made him feel guilty; he honestly wasn't sure whether it would be more painful for her to know that he'd heard and never gotten to know their son, or to think that he would never know he was a father.

Looking at the four people surrounding him, Jim's eyes settled on Bones, and he made a mental note to discuss that part with him before it all was over. What, exactly, he wanted to get back to Carol should this become messy. Well, messier than it already had been.

"All right, here's our plan," he said. "The Orion ship should be somewhere in orbit nearby. They aren't that big on hiding themselves around their own planets. Sulu and Uhura, I want you two to raid the ship. Most of them should be off on the planet, there'll only be a few left on patrol."

"We can handle them easily," Sulu commented.

Jim eyed him. "Orions are a bit tougher than your average human, Sulu."

Sulu gave him a derisive stare. "Captain, please. I've fought off four Nausicaans, single-handedly, using nothing but a dying phaser and a sword. I think Uhura and I can take care of this."

Jim looked to Uhura, whose face echoed the confidence in Sulu's voice.

"If I can fight off Krall's men trying to get to you, Captain," she said, "I can take on some Orions. And it's not like I don't have experience with them. Are you forgetting who I roomed with for four years?"

Jim laughed. "No, no I am not. That would be difficult." Satisfied with his choice for this particular facet of the mission, he continued, "I want you two to take their patrol out, then get any prisoners they may have out of there and back to the ship. Then, if we're still down there.

"Bones, Spock, you're with me. We'll be on the planet, getting Chekov back."

"One of the larger islands is the hub of the planet, Captain," Sulu told him. "It's got the most successful of all the slave markets. I managed to access the Syndicate's database, and Raycek frequented it whenever he was bringing his slaves in."

His voice trailed off when he realized they were all staring at him, dumbfounded. "What?"

"Sulu, where did you learn to hack into a database?" Jim asked, trying not to sound too impressed.

Sulu's satisfied grin faded a little. "When you hang out with Chekov, you pick up a thing or two."

Silence fell for a few moments, and then Jim cleared his throat and nodded. "Go on."

"Like I was saying, Raycek frequented the place, and it's somewhere you have to earn a welcome into. Moloz, as Raycek's successor, would be ushered in with open arms. If I had to place bets on where they'd take Chekov, that's where I'd put my money."

Jim sat back, processing that. "Okay. Sulu, Uhura, you two get in, neutralize the patrol, free the prisoners, get out. Bones, Spock, we find Moloz and attempt to negotiate. In the event that that doesn't work, however..."

"We go in all guns blazing?" Bones finished for him.

Jim gave him a smirk. "Damn right we do."

He turned back to the rest of them. "I don't think I need to remind you all just how slim of a chance we have of finding Chekov. We'll be arriving after Moloz's timeline. He could put Chekov on the market any time now, and if he sells him, there's a good possibility we don't ever see him again."

It was the first time Jim had ever acknowledged that outcome, and he felt the weight of it bearing down on him. What if they _didn't_ succeed, as he'd been pushing home that they would? What then?

Forcing himself to continue, he said, "That doesn't mean we stop looking. I'm perfectly willing to go rogue on this one. What the rest of you do is up to you. I won't involve the other crewmembers, but you all have to decide for yourselves whether you follow me and go after him, or whether you stay with the ship. There's no shame in either option."

There was silence once more. Jim wouldn't have been surprised if they'd all jumped in and vowed to go after Chekov until they'd brought him home, but he didn't blame them for the moments of deliberation. Desertion wasn't exactly a decision one made at the last moment.

Bones shook his head. "Jim, you drive me to drink sometimes, you know that? You're the most stubborn, pigheaded, arrogant ass of a man I've ever met."

"I love you too, Bones," Jim muttered, too used to it to be offended but vaguely wondering where this was going.

"That being said," Bones said. "I followed you to space, and so help me I'll follow you anywhere you want to go in it. Also, I don't know what I'd do if _you_ were my only regular in Med Bay. I might lose my mind. Chekov gives you a run for your money in the injury department, but at least he's a bit more compliant."

Jim couldn't help but feel relieved that his best friend would be coming along. He turned to Sulu next, who was nodding.

"Honestly, Captain, my decision was already made," he said.

"You're sure, Sulu?" Jim asked, concerned that he wasn't thinking it through. "What about your family?"

Sulu sighed. "I've already talked to Ben about this. I had a feeling you'd be going after Chekov, no matter what happened on Geshaash or what orders you received from Commodore Paris afterward. Obviously he's not big on me abandoning him and Demora for an indeterminate amount of time, and probably only being able to see them under cover once every few years, but, besides the covert part, he said not a lot would have changed, anyway. He considers Chekov a brother, too, you know. I'm not happy about it, but I can't just leave Chekov to the Orions. I'm in."

Seeing the determination on his helmsman's face, Jim knew there was nothing he could say to change his mind. And honestly, he would feel a bit like a hypocrite if he did, considering the fact that he would be abandoning Carol and their unborn child at this point.

Uhura was next. "I'm coming along, too, Captain. For the same reasons. I can't, in good conscience, let this happen to Chekov without trying to get him back." She looked up at Spock. "He'd do the same for any of us."

She was a woman of few words in conference situations, but she always got her point across. It was one of the many things Jim appreciated about Uhura. He turned to Spock, who tore his eyes away from Uhura and nodded.

"I, too, will follow you into exile if need be, Captain," he said.

Jim couldn't resist. He mimicked the expression he saw on Spock's face far too often and raised an eyebrow. "That's hardly logical, Spock."

Spock merely returned the gesture. "One thing that I have learned in my service with this crew, Captain: Sometimes the most logical thing is to listen to one's emotions. I cannot reconcile leaving my friends for the sake of my own career. Mr. Chekov is, in this situation, of more importance."

Once again, Jim couldn't help but feel relieved that Spock, who'd been by his side for the past five years, who, though admittedly driving him insane on occasion, balanced him perfectly and countered his impulsiveness with a calm, calculated suggestion whenever the need arose, was coming with him, too. If he was being honest, he couldn't imagine facing this challenge without them.

Bones was eyeing him, a glint in his eye that Jim couldn't quite place. "Of course, you can't just leave Scotty behind without giving him the option of coming along. If you ever cross paths with him again, he might just drown you in a bottle of Scotch."

Jim allowed himself a small laugh. "Don't worry, Bones," he said. "I won't ditch Scotty. Sulu, Uhura, bring him along when you come down to the planet."

"What about the crew?" Uhura asked. "We can't exactly leave them drifting in orbit above an Orion slave colony for an indeterminate amount of time. I don't know how many slave traders are out there, but as we've experienced before, it doesn't take that many people on board the _Enterprise_ for it to be taken over."

Jim considered it. "I'll comm Rosen after we've left," he said. "Let him know to take the ship back to Yorktown and await Paris's instructions."

"All of this assuming that we don't get him back now," Bones said. "Which, I don't know if you were aware, Jim, but we've beaten the odds before. What's to say we won't do it again?"

Everyone turned in their chairs and stared at him.

"Who are you?" Jim asked, confounded, "and what have you done with my friend and CMO?"

Bones shrugged. "Someone needed to interject a little optimism in this room."

Sulu looked back at Jim. "This really _is_ serious, isn't it?" he asked, a corner of his mouth tipping up. "We're all so down, _McCoy_ is the optimist here."

This time Jim actually did laugh, and it was the best he'd felt in four days. "Well, that's decided, then? We give it all we've got to get Chekov back now, and if that's not enough, we give more?"

The four of them nodded. Bones, as usual, was the one to reply.

"Let's go get our Russian."

Jim was suddenly reminded of Carol. Chekov had been "her Russian," after all. His smile faded, and he eyed Bones. "Reminds me, I need to have a word with you before I go talk to Scotty. The rest of you, go prepare yourselves. This may be a long mission we've got before us."

As the others trailed out, Bones stood and walked over to where Jim was leaning on the back of his chair. "So, it's pretty obvious you've made your decision."

Jim nodded. "Bones, if I don't make it back, and you do, I want you to find Carol for me. She shouldn't know I saw the message, but if she asks about it, I don't want you to lie. I want you to tell her that this decision killed me." He paused. "Maybe don't use that exact wording. It's a bit too literal for this situation."

Bones snorted. "That's an understatement."

"Just let her know that if I'd felt I had any other choice, I would have taken it. Tell her I didn't want my son to have to live with a father who didn't live at peace with himself. And if I just let Chekov go, I'd never be able to do that."

"She'll understand, Jim," Bones reassured him. "This is Carol we're talking about here. Sure, she'll call you a moron and cry – a lot – but she _will_ get it. She's just as loyal to this crew as you are."

The reminder brought a small smile to Jim's face. "Thanks, Bones," he said. Slapping him on the back, he headed toward the door. "Go and get prepared," he said. "I don't know what kind of medical supplies we're going to need, but I'd be ready for anything."

"You know me," Bones muttered, following after him. "My motto is 'be prepared.'"

"Last I checked, it was 'never trust a Vulcan.'"

"I've got more than one, Jim. That's a detail."

On his way to the shuttle bay, Jim approached Scotty. "Mr. Scott, you have the conn until Lieutenants Sulu and Uhura return. Then you'll reassign the conn to Lieutenant Rosen and join them when they come down to Geshaash."

"Aye, sir," Scotty said. "Oy, wee man!" he called at Keenser. "Ye're in charge. Try not tae blow anything up while I'm away."

"That...might be a bit longer than you think, Scotty," Jim said. At the questioning look his chief engineer gave him, he explained the situation. As expected, Scotty nodded throughout the entire thing, and answered emphatically when he'd finished.

"Aye," he said. "I'll come along. Just tell Sulu and Uhura to come back for me, and I'll follow ye to wherever they've taken him. Be it the pits of hell itself, I'll retrieve the lad if it's the last thing I do!"

Jim smiled, reaching out and grasping Scotty's shoulder. "I would expect nothing less from you Scotty. I'll see you in a few hours, for better or worse."

He turned to leave, but Scotty called him back.

"Jim?"

Turning, he saw a vengeful, murderous look in Scotty's eyes. He'd seen it before, but never to this degree. Rather than unsettling him, it only endeared Scotty to him more.

"Tell that slimy-arsed Orion git that if anything happens to Chekov, I'll make haggis with his innards," Scotty growled.

Biting back a laugh, but also thinking that Moloz was in for a world of hurt if Scotty ever got ahold of him – to say nothing of what would happen when _he_ did – Jim said, "You got it, Scotty."

Oh yes, Moloz would get that message. Maybe not in those exact words, but he'd get the message.

He entered shuttle bay to find Sulu and Uhura standing outside Shuttle 5, ready for takeoff.

"You sure you two can handle this?" he asked, reluctant to risk losing another one of his friends. "I can give you a security team."

"Don't endanger anyone else, Captain," Uhura told him. "We'll be fine."

Sulu nodded. "They won't know what hit them, sir."

Jim gave them a reassuring smile. "If you're sure, then I have no doubt, either. See you when this part's over."

Spock was sitting behind the helm of Shuttle 3, and Jim strapped himself in next to Bones. Bones gave him an appraising look.

"You ready for this?"

Jim sighed. "Honestly, Bones? I'm not sure. Not for what we're about to do, but what we may find."

As Geshaash loomed on the viewing screen, Jim eyed the largest island he could see. Judging by its shape, he imagined it was the island they were headed for. He looked up at Spock's console and saw that he'd guessed correctly.

Turning his eyes straight ahead, he allowed his thoughts to stray to Chekov, what they might be doing to him down there, what they'd already done, whether he had been sold already or not.

Gritting his teeth, Jim realized there was only one circumstance in which even their best-laid plans would have no effect whatsoever. What if, by some heinous accident or twist of fate, Chekov was already dead?

Pushing the thought from his mind, Jim refused to entertain it. But all the other possibilities wouldn't leave. Jim let them fuel his fire, let the blood burn in his veins, and, as the anger consumed him, only one coherent sentence formed in his mind.

 _We're coming for you._


	7. Sold

Chekov had finally been able to move after a good hour of just laying on the ground. He'd dragged himself over to the corner of the room nearest the window and leaned up against the wall, nursing his throbbing legs. Strangely, he found that it alleviated the pain to have his left leg bent and his right out, ramrod straight, so he rested his arm on his knee and tried to get some sleep.

He found sleep was evading him, however, so he contented himself with looking out the small window, imagining the _Enterprise_ out there somewhere. Chekov held to the firm belief that Captain Kirk was coming for him, but he had no idea when or if it would be too late by the time he got here. So it would be left to Chekov to escape and get back to them on his own.

Problem was, he had no idea how he was supposed to do it.

Finally, as the night wore on and light from Geshaash's two moons leaked in the window, Chekov laid his head against the wall, shivering slightly at the cold in his shirtless condition, and fell into a trancelike, half-asleep state.

* * *

Moloz came back for him just as the sun was starting to show itself. Chekov had been watching it and wondering whether they could see this star from Earth when the door creakily slid open and Moloz stood there, arms crossed, a steely look in his eyes.

Moloz looked Chekov over. He nodded approvingly, adjusting the chains slung over his shoulder. The sight of them grated on Chekov's already strained nerves, but he swallowed that panic and held his head high, looking Moloz in the eye and daring him to underestimate him.

Moloz met the gaze, unintimidated. "Those bruises are developing nicely," he commented, gesturing to Chekov's black-and-blue torso. He approached, and Chekov was instantly on high alert. "Just need one more finishing touch."

This time, Chekov was prepared, but he knew that fighting back would only make Moloz beat him worse. So, he took the blow to his gut without a struggle. Nevertheless, it still caused him to double over in pain, groaning. Coughing, he straightened out, and reestablished his steady glare at Moloz. _You won't beat me,_ he thought, hoping Orions could secretly read minds. _You won't break me._

"That should do," Moloz commented, still apparently unimpressed. He took the chains off his shoulder and shackled Chekov's wrists. Leading him out of the cell, they went back the same way they'd come for a time before twisting down a corridor. Judging by the way the doors slid open when they passed, Chekov assumed that the Orion traders slept in this same facility as their prisoners – though with significantly better living conditions, he noted – and they also had escape-proof hallways here. It figured. He was glad he hadn't attempted anything last night – even if he'd been in any condition to do so. Though he seemed fine today, after that last beating, he'd barely been able to move in the first place.

Chekov was interrupted by the sound of a feminine scream coming from a nearby Orion's quarters. They passed by, and Moloz paused before the door, watching with a sickening smile on his face. Chekov, on the other hand, watched the events unfolding inside with horror.

What appeared to be a female member of a species he'd had yet to encounter scrambled along the floor as an Orion slave trader chased after her, a knife in his hand.

Pleading with him in her own language, the woman curled up against the wall, holding her hands up in surrender. Chekov watched as the Orion's knife descended toward her uncovered head and the woman screamed.

Instead of skewering her, however, the knife stabbed into the wall next to her. The Orion leaned down and started hissing at her angrily. Chekov couldn't make out his words, but he was willing to bet they weren't those of a pleased master.

Moloz, meanwhile, was smiling to himself. Giving Chekov's chains a tug, they began moving down the hallway again.

"I remember the first time _I_ refused to do what my master required of me," he said, the smile on his face not adding up to the bitterness in his tone. "I was the concubine of one of the Syndicate's leaders. He wasn't quite so kind as Kain back there. But he was also more skilled with a knife, so that might have something to do with it."

He looked back at Chekov, as if to check that he was still listening. Seeing nothing but a look of disgust, he turned straight back ahead. "Slashed me until I nearly bled out. Slashed, mind you. Not stabbed. If we want our slaves to learn, we never stab them. That's almost certain death. I'd recommend doing as you're told when you get where you're going, human. Slashing is rather uncomfortable."

Chekov followed behind him in silence, trying to understand the man about to doom him to the same fate he had once suffered.

"Vy are you doing zis?" he demanded angrily. Moloz turned to survey him, and for a moment, Chekov entertained the fear of another beating, but decided that at this point, he really didn't care. Besides, Moloz looked merely intrigued, not murderous.

"You're putting eweryone you sell through ze exact same thing you vent through!" Chekov continued. "How does zat make sense? Vat have ve ewer done to you? Ve didn't do zat to you, ze Syndicate did! Your energy vould be better spent in taking zem out, not helping zem in zeir vork!"

Moloz suddenly lunged at him, dragging his wrists down so he couldn't move, and getting right up in his face.

"I do it so you all can learn the same painful lesson I did," Moloz growled. "Loyalty? Friendship? _Family_?" He scoffed. "It's all a lie." Releasing his grip just slightly so Chekov could rise, he stepped off to the side and took a deep, shuddering breath. "You know, my father was also a high-ranking Orion official. Second-in-command only to our leader, actually. Funny how I expected him to send the cavalry in after me."

He trailed off, and Chekov thought he was beginning to understand the man who'd captured him a bit more. He waited for Moloz's next statement.

"When I was sold to his _superior_ ," Moloz growled out, "I expected he would stage some sort of coup to get me out. I certainly didn't think he'd let his – his _friend_ do those things to me. But he would walk past my rooms, my prison, every day and do _nothing_. My mother, my brothers and sister, they all visited him at his place of work, where I was kept, and did the exact same thing. I stood by the door and pleaded with them, called them by name, begged them to help me. But did any of them come for me? No."

Moloz stopped abruptly, and hung his head, shuddering. Chekov was certain he was cursing himself for having revealed that much to a _slave_ , of all people. When Moloz did speak again, his voice had an even harder edge to it.

"I learned in that place that you can rely on no one," he said. "Family ties mean nothing. They will treat you as though you are important to them and then turn their back as soon as you need them to help you."

Chekov couldn't resist asking. "How did you escape?"

Moloz glared at him. "I didn't," he said. "My owner died. After I'd started complying with his wishes, he grew fond of me and left everything to me. Using his money, I was able to buy my way into the Syndicate. Before I left, my parents came to me, begging my forgiveness. Claiming it broke their hearts to see me in such a place and not being able to do anything about it. When all the while they _could_ have. They pleaded with me to come home. I spit in my father's face and walked out. I haven't seen them since."

There was a charged silence. Chekov shook his head as Moloz looked at some point on the wall behind his head.

"You're wrong," Chekov said. "Vat your father did vas despicable, but zere are better people zan him out zere. Loyalty is not a lie. Family doesn't have to be who you're born vith. You can choose it. It's not too late."

Moloz sneered. "And what will I do?" he demanded. "Leave the Syndicate? Even if I weren't hunted down and killed, who would take me? Your Starfleet? No, human. The rest of my life will be spent teaching poor, idealistic souls like yourself the same thing I've had to cope with. How much should I bet that you've been counting on your friends to come back for you? Most do. And no one ever does. There hasn't been a prison break attempt among my cargo in the entire time I've been in the business. You are truly on your own, human."

Moloz started walking again, jerking Chekov along. And it was then that Chekov did something either very defiant, very stupid, or both.

"My name," he growled, "is not 'human.'"

Using every ounce of strength he had left, he yanked the chain out of Moloz's grip and grabbed it up in his own hands. Moloz whirled, furious, but Chekov was determined he would show absolutely none of the fear he was feeling before his captor.

"It's Pavel Chekov, and I von't be led like a dog to ze auction block!" he shouted. "You can tell my crew zat ven zey prove ewerything you've been saying wrong."

Moloz looked as though he might actually snap. He looked as though he might actually finish what he'd started when he'd cut off Chekov's airway four days ago. But, after a few moments of that murderous glare, his face was once again a mask of calm.

Turning around and waving Chekov forward, he called over his shoulder, "Have it your way, human. It's not as if you'll get much farther if you try to bolt, anyway."

As they reached the end of the long corridor, the wall in front of them opened up and Chekov was blinded by the light filtering in. The heat of the day suddenly filtered in around him, stuffy and stifling, and he realized that after a few hours, he was going to burn in that heat. While he didn't welcome the uncomfortable side effects of that, it was the other problem it posed that gave him pause.

If they saw him holding up well under the sweltering sun's barrage, he'd be sold faster than if they thought him weak. He would be gone for sure before the _Enterprise_ got there.

Moloz delivered him to his spot in line behind the auction block. Chekov couldn't help but be reminded of Ancient Rome's colosseum. The amphitheater was a round, pillared structure, and everything down to sand beneath his feet was nearly identical.

At a nod from Moloz, one of the guards moved to stand behind him, his phaser rifle aimed solidly at his back. Chekov stood staring stoically ahead. Feeling the defiance a bit more, he commented, "I hope ze safety is on zat thing."

Moloz gave him an incredulous look. "You actually believe you're getting out of this, don't you, human?" he asked.

Chekov shrugged. "I've told you before. You're wrong. Family ties are ze ones you choose, not ze ones you're born vith. And my crew is about to prove it."

Moloz let out a low, derisive laugh. "You think they'll come in here, all guns blazing? There's no way the Federation will give up Raycek, a highly wanted criminal, to get back one insignificant Starfleet navigator. If Raycek is even still alive by now. Just wait. They won't even have the nerve to come after you without negotiation material."

He checked Chekov's shackles casually. "Actually, if you want my honesty, I don't even care about Raycek. That was just a decoy. Being the captain of his ship now suits me just fine. So as far as I'm concerned, he can rot. Just like you will."

Then Moloz moved off to stand in the crowd, leaving Chekov alone with that thought.

* * *

Chekov was one of the last slaves to arrive, so he was also towards the end of the auction. As the line dwindled down, so did the sun's light, and he felt the welcome relief of the night's chill. Fortunately, tonight was not so cold as the last one. Every once in a while, a breeze would flow across his bare chest, but it was more of a tickle than anything else. He was pretty sure he heard the guard behind him doze off a few times, but knew that if he attempted escape, at least five others would blow his brains out before he made it two steps.

The auction was disturbing, to say the least. Many of the slaves were not so resigned to their fate – or sure of their rescue – as he was, and were more reluctant to get up on the block. He watched one rather large Nausicaan put up an admirable fight until he was tackled to the ground by six of the guards. None of the other slaves dared to run while they were distracted, however. As far as Chekov could see, there was only one exit to the arena, and there were more guards on the way to that.

He swallowed his disquiet as the Nausicaan was hauled up to the platform. Beyond cursing at the Orions in his language, Chekov could see the hidden fear in his eyes, and wondered if a Nausicaan pirate couldn't hide his terror, how was Chekov supposed to hide his own?

There was finally only one more slave in front of him. It was a young Orion woman, and Chekov had, for once in his life, been too distracted to notice her. He'd been busy either watching the auction or scanning the area for any signs of the _Enterprise_ crew infiltrating it, about ready to not only get him back, but shut down this entire organization. Heck, maybe they'd move on to the whole Orion Syndicate in a race for vengeance.

He would strongly recommend the idea to Captain Kirk once he got back on the ship.

They came for the Orion girl, and she, too, did not go without a fight. The first of the traders to touch her received a slap across the face. Chekov winced for the man. Though he didn't necessarily feel any love for the traders, he'd been slapped by an Orion woman before. They packed a punch.

The other two with him grabbed her by the arms, overpowering her easily. She kicked at their shins and screamed at the top of her lungs, but to no avail. By the time they reached the block, the traders were practically carrying her, and her chains had to be affixed to bolts at the edge of the platform to keep her secure.

She began cursing at the traders in the Orion tongue. Chekov made a mental note to look some of these words he was hearing up later. Though he would forever favor Russian, knowing profanity in other languages came in useful around some people – Mr. Scott, for instance, who couldn't be bothered to learn anything other than Federation Standard. Knowing that contemplating the future that was slowly drawing further and further away, Chekov turned his attention back to the struggling girl on the platform.

He should have noticed by the way she carried herself that she was some kind of nobility. It was almost universal to every species that those of a higher class had a certain air about them. Even on Earth, where poverty was all but obsolete, people who had descended from wealthier families acted just slightly snobbier than others – well, most of them. This girl gave off the vibe that the rare few others did: not uppity, but still the feeling that she'd had confidence pounded into her head her entire life and didn't know any different.

Suddenly she started screaming in Standard, and it all but confirmed Chekov's suspicions of high birth.

"Take your hands off me!" she shrieked at the guard who was holding her in place. "Do you know who my father is?"

Chekov's eyes flashed over the top of the platform, just at his eye level. He saw Moloz in the crowd's front row, and, from the look in his eyes, imagined that he'd said just the same thing however many years ago he'd been sold.

There was also something else in Moloz's eyes: Decision.

Sure enough, as the auctioneer named off the first price, Moloz's hand shot into the air. Another Orion made an offer, but Moloz countered it. The process continued until no one would go any higher.

"She's yours, Moloz," the auctioneer said. "Maybe you can knock some of that fire out of her, eh?"

With a grin that sent chills up Chekov's spine, Moloz replied, "She'll make good company for my other concubine. I've grown tired of mixing with humans, I'm ready for my own kind."

Moloz came up onto the stage to claim his prize and pay the trader who'd brought the girl in. Her chains were undone, and as soon as she was free, she made to deliver a blow to Moloz's jaw. Chekov knew that it was a lost effort. As soon as her fist began to fly, Moloz grabbed it and twisted her arm behind her back, leaning in close. The girl let out an exclamation of pain and fright.

"Soon you'll find out," Moloz hissed at her, "that no matter who your father is, no matter how much you think he loves you, none of that is about to matter. All that matters is me. You belong to me now, and you will please me, or I will make your life a living misery. Is that understood?"

Chekov didn't watch any farther. He didn't see the girl's response, only that Moloz seemed relatively pleased with it.

"Good," Moloz said, thrusting her to the side. "Now, stay there. I have a payment to collect."

Chekov had been so focused on what was happening on the platform that he hadn't even noticed the two Orions approaching him from behind. Grabbing him under the arms, they hauled him along up the steps to the platform. Chekov went without protest, knowing it would do him little good.

Moloz looked over at him, eyed him up and down one last time, and then turned to the crowd. "I've brought you a Terran male that I picked up on the way back from my last foray into Federation space. He's young, so he'll last any of you a good, long time. Can't be more than twenty-one of their Earth years – "

 _Twenty-two,_ Chekov thought, though he knew it was rather beside the point. _I'm twenty-two, you Orion Cossack._

"For any of you looking to procure a... _companion_..." Moloz raised his eyebrows and looked at the crowd conspiratorially, getting a laugh out of some. "He's attractive, for a human. There is the matter of that cut on his lip. An unfortunate tryst with one of my crew caused that. It'll heal in time. And for those searching for a new addition to your mines..." He poked at Chekov's bruises, causing him to wince. "This one can survive almost any ordeal you throw at him."

Well, he wasn't wrong. Fighting a crazy Romulan, getting "promoted" to chief engineer without warning, being stranded on a foreign planet with a lunatic... Chekov was a survivor, he'd give Moloz that. And the man didn't even know the half of it.

As the bidding started, Chekov allowed his eyes to scan the arena and the sky above once more. _Come on, Captain,_ he thought. _Where are you?_

"Three thousand credits," called out one of the Orion women, eyeing him with a leering smirk.

 _Well, at least I'm worth a decent amount_ , Chekov thought wryly. _Any minute now would be good, sir!_

"Five thousand credits!" came a call from the back of the arena, and the rest of the crew fell silent.

 _KIRK, YOU SYN SOOKA, GET DOWN HERE!_

"Sold, to the man at the back," the auctioneer announced, and Chekov's stomach dropped to his feet. His owner stood up and worked his way toward the front. Moloz had been large enough to begin with, but even from this distance, Chekov could see this Orion was a giant. He wore a sleeveless tunic, and his muscles, likely hardened by years of mining work, bulged. Chekov swallowed hard. Something about this one's demeanor said he wasn't to be trifled with.

Moloz went up to Chekov and took the chains off of him as the other Orion made his way up the stairs.

"You know, I thought about just keeping you," Moloz said. "I could always use a manservant. But I don't think you're cut out for that kind of work. You don't look it, but you're dangerous, human. The dangerous ones always do better in the mines or as concubines. They need that kind of strength to survive the mines – and we Orions do like a bit of danger."

Chekov fought back the bile that rose to his throat as the Orion who had bought him came forward and produced his own set of chains.

"I've heard rumors about you," he growled.

"From who?" Chekov retorted, not ready to submit just yet.

The Orion slapped him, and everything Chekov had assumed about him proved true as he was knocked off his feet. Rolling over onto his back and staring up at the Orion, Chekov grabbed his stinging cheek and glared.

"You'll learn to speak only when asked to, human," his new owner growled. "And I don't recall asking for it."

Hauling him up and slapping the new chains on his wrists, the Orion shoved him down the stairs to where two others stood waiting. "Get him to the holding cell," his owner growled at the other Orions. "I'll meet you on the ship."

As he was dragged along, Chekov looked up toward the sky once more. _Come on, Jim, where are you?_

But even as it occurred to him that it was the first time he'd even thought of the captain by his first name, the awful realization hit Chekov that Moloz had been right. No one was coming. Not now.

He was, for the first time since the Academy, truly alone.


	8. Please

**A/N: Well, I hope you enjoy this one! I can't promise how frequently I'll be able to update from here on out, because I'm headed back to school, and as it happens, college is a bit of time-consuming thing. I'll try not to leave you guys hanging too long, though. I gave you a nice, long one in return for the ending I leave you with.**

* * *

"Entering the planet's atmosphere, Captain," Spock called back from the helm.

Jim unstrapped himself and went up to join him. "You got that cloaking device working?" he asked.

Spock nodded. "Programming the shuttle as we speak, Captain."

Jim knew that as soon as the device was enacted, the shuttle would be invisible to any Orions who might be looking up from the planet's surface. One of the good things that had come off of their adventure on Altamid: Not just an advance in technology on the ship, but the shuttles, as well. This was officially the technologically advanced shuttle in the fleet.

Knowing Bones was there even without turning around to see he'd unstrapped himself and was standing at his side, Jim asked, "Are you two ready for this?"

There was silence.

"Are you?" Bones asked.

Jim gripped the back of Spock's chair. He'd managed to once again push the possibility that they may be too late to the back of his mind, but it came crashing over him again. Swallowing his real answer, Jim only nodded. He wasn't sure he could bring himself to lie out loud about this one.

"Meaning," Bones said, "you're ready for one outcome, but not the other."

Jim groaned. "You know, you have this annoying habit of reading my mind, Bones."

"You're just an awful liar," Bones said matter-of-factly. "You don't even have to talk for _that_."

"Captain," Spock cut in. "Once we have touched down on the island, what are our plans for locating Mr. Chekov?"

Jim eyed the island below, approaching ever more rapidly. "We sneak through their back alleys until we find their slave market. The cells will be close to that facility, most likely. At the very least, Moloz should be high up enough in the Syndicate that he can keep his prisoners nearby."

"Jim, there's no guarantee we'll find Chekov before the Orions find us," Bones said. "What then?"

Jim sighed. "We do exactly what you said we'd do, Bones. We negotiate. We buy him back if necessary. And maybe, just maybe, we beat the tar out of Moloz."

Bones laughed darkly. "I won't say I dislike the idea. But I don't imagine Spock here does, do you, Spock?"

Spock was silent for a few moments.

"I am open to numerous options for Mr. Chekov's retrieval, Doctor," he said. "And I cannot say that I am at all averse to that one in particular."

Bones eyed Jim skeptically. Jim shrugged.

"Part human, you gotta remember, Bones," Jim said, turning back to the island, now only about one hundred feet below.

"I will locate an alleyway large enough for us to touch down in, Captain," Spock said. "Estimated time of arrival, two minutes."

Jim and Bones returned to their seats, strapping themselves in. As Spock located a makeshift landing strip, the shuttle hit a slight patch of turbulence. Jim was grateful for it. It kept him in the moment, not in his head. That was the last place he needed to be if this was going to work. Bones, on the other hand, was less than pleased.

"Dammit, Spock, you couldn't keep it steady for five minutes, could you?" he growled, gripping his straps so tightly they turned white.

Normally, Bones' ever present aviaphobia would bring a small smile to Jim's face – not too large, so he didn't embarrass the man – but today, Jim found humor to be beyond him. He had a job to do. A duty to fulfill, to his crewmate and his friend. And he would be damned if he didn't do it right.

* * *

Phasers set on stun, they'd made their way through the alleys, finding it much easier to move once the sun went down. Orions, much like humans, conducted rather sordid affairs in alleyways, but it was much less confined to the hours of the night. Apparently, there was no need to cover up misdeeds on this particular island of Geshaash. So, rather than running covertly in the darkness, most got their dirty work done during the day.

Which was perfect for the three men on a mission.

As the sun touched the horizon, Jim's communicator beeped. He opened it to find a message from Sulu.

 _Successfully infiltrated the Orion's vessel. There was only one prisoner left, the rest have been taken down to the planet. It's a human girl who says she spoke to Chekov. They took him down last night with the others. Moloz had him in a separate shuttle. She has no idea what that was about._

Jim's mind raced. How much time did they have here, exactly? It had already been about twenty-four hours since Chekov had been transported to Geshaash. What was the running schedule for the slave markets?

Bones, who'd been reading over his shoulder and, as usual, seemed to sense the direction of his thoughts, gripped his shoulder.

"We'll get there, Jim," he said. "Let's move."

Another message bleeped in from Sulu.

 _Apparently, he tried to escape. Sounds like him, doesn't it?_

A corner of Jim's mouth tipped up. That it did.

 _We haven't found a sign of Chekov or Moloz yet,_ Jim sent back. _You, Uhura and Scotty stay on the ship until we have. Tell Scotty to blockade the planet. Make sure no one leaves._

After about another hour or so of searching, Spock whispered, "Captain," and pointed upward at a circular, pillared structure.

Jim's eyes widened, and Bones muttered, "It's like the damn Colosseum, isn't it?"

Secretly wondering if the Orions were anything like the ancient Romans of Earth with slaves that they couldn't sell, Jim shuddered. Regardless of what that might be, Jim knew there wasn't much of a chance that Chekov wouldn't sell if they got him to market, from what Moloz had said.

"Can you see the entrance, Mr. Spock?" Jim asked.

Spock, who'd been leading the way, said, "Affirmative, Captain. But it is guarded. Finding another way in would be optimal."

After a few moments of staring at the amphitheater, trying to discern some sort of possible weakness, Bones commented, "You know, I wonder if those windows go all the way around?"

Jim and Spock whirled to face him. He was pointing at the arched holes at the top of the amphitheater wall, nearly two hundred feet off the ground. Jim couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

" _You're_ suggesting we scale that wall with little to no safety equipment?" he asked incredulously.

"With the odds of our dying before we reach the top to be at least 97 percent?" Spock added.

"Who are you, and what have you done with my CMO?" Jim finished, giving Bones a small smirk.

Bones shrugged. "Just be sure and tell Chekov when we get him back the exact lengths I'm willing to go to for him. Maybe it'll make him see me as less of a traitor when I hunt him down for skipping his physical."

Jim laughed and turned back toward the amphitheater. Maybe he _was_ being a bad influence on Chekov, as Bones had claimed at least twice in the past month. Bones' eyes had rolled about five inches back in his head when he'd heard that Jim and Chekov had been the only crew members not taken by Krall's bees.

"You two _would_ be," he'd said. "That was exactly what Chekov needed, you to teach him even _more_ ways to get himself killed!"

Jim grit his teeth. He was pretty sure getting kidnapped and sold by Orions hadn't been one of those lessons.

Spock was sizing up the building once more. "In the event that we do not find an unguarded side entrance, scaling the wall may be our only alternative. Of course, it will be time consuming, as well as dangerous."

"We don't have time for...time consuming, Spock," Jim commented. "We don't know how quickly the Syndicate works."

Spock turned around, raising an eyebrow. "Then we must hope for another entrance, Captain."

Jim's eyes trailed down to the ground below them, across the alleyway. Something like a sewer grate lay settled into the ground there. A small smile of triumph began growing on his face, and he elbowed his friends, nodding toward the grate.

"A logical alternative, Captain," Spock commented.

"You've gotta be kidding me!" Bones groaned.

* * *

The sewers were every bit as disgusting as Jim imagined Earth's were. He couldn't quite bring himself to say more, considering that he'd never been in one before. Add that one to the ever-growing list of adventures.

As they sidled their way along the wall, careful to avoid falling into the sludge that flowed through the tunnels, Bones muttered something under his breath about there probably being all manner of creatures down here that fed off humanoid waste, Jim tried to ignore him, and Spock did so successfully. Holding out the tricorder he'd brought from the shuttle, Spock tracked their progress.

"Captain," he said after about five minutes of very slow going, "we should be under the amphitheater at this time."

Jim nodded. "They've probably got at least one place they need to drain into the sewer system. Let's see if we can't find it."

Spock peered through the darkness. "I believe I can see a small light up ahead, Captain."

"The proverbial light at the end of the tunnel?" Bones said, shaking something unpleasant that Jim didn't care to study farther off of his boot.

Making their way towards the light, they saw that Spock had, in fact, been right. Jim eyed the other two, lifting his phaser and shaking it a little. They nodded, and all three of them raised their phasers and fired a steady stream, welding through the metal of the grate and causing it to fall to the floor in front of them. Spock and Bones lifted Jim up through the hole in the ceiling.

Jim's phaser was at the ready, but there was no need. This hallway, at least for now, showed no sign of Orion traders. Reaching a hand down, he helped Bones through, then, while Bones stood watching for any Orions, pulled Spock up as well.

Silently, the three of them slid along the walls. Spock, once again in front, paused when they came to the first door. He ascertained that it was closed, then slid across it.

The door slid open in an instant. Spock raised his phaser and fired at someone inside, and then the three of them took off running in the opposite direction.

Coming to a turn, they took the left one, noticing that these doors didn't open as they passed. It was only when they reached the end of the corridor that there was an open door. Spock darted inside, Jim and Bones following close behind.

Once they were sure they hadn't been pursued, the three men paused a moment to catch their breath. Jim and Bones eyed the room around them.

"You think it's a cell?" Bones asked, gesturing at the bare walls, the lone bench in the middle, the small window near the ceiling, looking out on the arena below. Jim, who'd been peering out, turned around and nodded.

"Not sure what else it would be," he said. "I don't think Orions are really into the whole 'Spartan' look for their personal quarters." Looking back out on the arena, Jim beckoned for Bones to come look. "That must be where they have their markets. Looks like they're just cleaning up after one."

He and Bones eyed each other, knowing what that likely meant. Their thoughts were interrupted, however, when Spock called, "Captain."

Turning to where Spock was squatting on the floor, Jim felt his stomach drop to his knees. His first officer was examining a bright, albeit small, spot of red on the floor.

"Is that...?"

Bones answered for him. "That's definitely blood, Jim."

It was only then that Jim noticed the tricorder in Spock's hand. "Spock, what are you doing?"

"I am scanning the biological qualities of the blood stain, Captain," Spock replied, matter-of-factly. But when the results came in, he stopped cold, staring down at the stain on the stone floor and gripping the tricorder as though he wanted to crush it. Having been on the receiving end of Spock's grip before, Jim didn't doubt that he could.

"Spock," Jim asked, dreading the answer, "whose blood is it?"

Spock didn't reply, but as it turned out, he didn't need to.

"Oh, don't worry about your friend," came a silky voice from the cell doorway, and all three men were on their feet, phasers at the ready. Moloz stood there, an arrogant smirk on his face.

"I didn't hurt him _too_ badly," Moloz said, stepping into the cell. If the sight of their phasers intimidated him at all, he didn't show it.

Wanting with all of his soul to give this guy a solid kick where it counted, but honestly not knowing if Orions were tougher than humans in that area and knowing it wouldn't help in the long run, Jim merely focused on holding his phaser steady. "Where is he?" he growled, putting every ounce of distaste for the man in front of him into his words.

Moloz waved that aside. "Later, later," he said. "First, do me a favor and satisfy my curiosity. How did you manage to touch down in this city without anyone noticing?"

"Damn your curiosity!" Bones said. "Tell us what you've done with Chekov."

Moloz rolled his eyes and sighed. "Very well, he's alive. Are you happy?"

"Not quite yet," Jim said. "But I'll bite."

"Captain, for the sake of time – " Spock began.

"We cloaked our shuttle and landed in an alleyway. Some poor soul's probably rammed into a large, invisible metal structure already," Jim began.

"Though, without anyone there to maintain it, the shuttle has likely shown itself by now," Spock commented.

"Spock, let him talk," Bones growled. "If we're going to stand here and satisfy this bastard's curiosity, we might as well let Jim embellish our story somewhat."

"We got in here through the sewer system," Jim said. "That one wasn't an embellishment."

Moloz gave them an appraising look. "Impressive," he said. "Very resourceful. I'm beginning to see where your young friend gets it. He tried escaping me, you know. I taught him that I'm not a man to be trifled with."

"Neither am I, and you're starting to get on my last nerve," Jim told him. "Now tell me where he is, and I might let you get a headstart off the planet. Of course, I don't imagine you'll make it very far. You've got at least six people hell-bent on revenge."

Moloz shook his head, still seemingly unruffled. "Well, well, well. It would appear my head's about to go on a platter, isn't it?"

Jim advanced on him. "What have you done with my friend?" he shouted, ramming the phaser up into Moloz's throat.

Moloz calmly pushed the phaser away. "Threaten me all you like, Kirk," he said. "You need me conscious. I'm the only one who knows where your precious Mr. Chekov is. And, fortunately, I'm always up for a good negotiation."

Hating that he was right but knowing there was little he could do about the matter, Jim stepped back and lowered his phaser, gesturing for Bones and Spock to do the same.

"We're willing to negotiate," he said. "Name your terms."

Moloz was _still_ shaking his head with that infuriatingly confident look on his face. "No, no," he said. "I want to know what you're willing to do. I want to hear what lengths, exactly, you would go to in order to get him back."

Jim looked at Bones and Spock, who both nodded. Now was the time to bring up what they'd discussed.

"How much would he sell for?" Jim asked, a hint of desperation sneaking its way into his words. "We'll buy him back from you, if need be."

Moloz laughed. "And how much could you give me?"

Wishing he would stop turning a question into a question, Jim replied, "Everything we've got. All of our credits. And we're officers of Starfleet. Senior crew members. It's not like we aren't paid reasonably well."

"How many of you are going in on this purchase?" Moloz continued to probe. Jim's last nerve was fraying as he spoke, but he kept it under wraps. _If you snap and clobber this guy, where does that leave Chekov? Keep it together, Jim._

"Six of us," he replied. "Three of whom are back on our ship. Give us Chekov, and I can make sure their credits are transferred to you somehow. But if we agree to pay you, you'll need to show us that he's all right. We want to see it for ourselves."

Moloz considered the matter, and for a moment Jim allowed himself to get his hopes up. Maybe this would work after all. Maybe they'd chosen the right method in appealing to the businessman in Moloz. Maybe –

"Ah, money," Moloz said. "Wealth. Riches. It is what all beings desire, isn't it? Yet, the moral ones, anyway, I find that when there is something even greater at stake, money tends to be the first thing they're willing to give up. What an easy thing for you to leap to, parting ways with all your assets.

"Yet, I can't help but feel that it wouldn't be enough. Poverty is all but extinct on Earth. You would return home and some solution would reached. Your coffers would be replenished anyway within a few months, no doubt. No, that's not big enough of a sacrifice."

"What do you want, then?" Jim asked, giving off an air of curiosity but truly just stumped beyond words. "My ship? I'm not sacrificing the rest of my crew for the one. Kind of defeats the purpose, wouldn't you say?"

"A most illogical idea," Spock interjected. Jim tamped down the desire to see Spock's hands wrapped around Moloz's throat. It would be much _more_ satisfying if they were his own, he knew.

"No, not your ship," Moloz replied flippantly. "What _more_ would you be willing to give?" He eyed Jim. "Why this one?" he asked.

Jim was caught off guard. "Excuse me?"

"You have infiltrated a planet and are now willing to give nearly all of you possess for Chekov. Why would you go to such lengths for him, specifically? Answer me that."

Jim frowned. "I'd do it for any of my crew."

"Be that as it may, there is something different at work here than simply a shepherd seeking out a single lost sheep," Moloz said. "To use an Earth phrase I heard once, long ago."

Jim felt his chest constrict. Moloz was right, of course. He tried to tell himself he'd be just as desperate to get any member of his crew back. And he would. But he knew that this was, in fact, different. He could only explain it in one way.

"Chekov is...he's like a brother to me," Jim said, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "He's family."

At that word, Moloz stiffened. His once calm, cool, confident face now contorted into a twisted visage of rage.

"Family is a _lie_!" he stormed, getting up in Jim's face. "Loyalty, love, familial bond, all of that! At least for my people, it is! I have never seen anyone get this far in retrieving their loved one, and he isn't even your own blood. I will say it, you have completely confounded me, Kirk."

"What do you _want_ from us?" Jim shouted. "What do I have to do to get him back?"

"What _would_ you do?" Moloz snapped. "What, exactly, would you do for your so-called family?"

The statement went over like a physical blow to Jim's gut. Because it wasn't the first time he'd been asked that. Suddenly he found himself flashing back, four years ago, almost literally a lifetime ago. It wasn't Moloz staring at him, but Khan, asking him the question that had driven him to throw himself into a warp core so his crew would live.

 _Is there anything you would not do for your family?_

And in that instant, Jim knew that no, there wasn't.

His thoughts flicked to Carol, and the baby. He hoped that they would never find out he'd left them of his own accord. But even if they did, he hoped they would understand. He couldn't let this happen, not to Chekov.

"Take me," he whispered brokenly. "I'll take his place. I know I'm not what you'd call prime for the market, but I'm not decrepit yet."

"Jim – "Bones began to protest, but Jim cut him off.

"Look, I'll do whatever you want," Jim said, hating the tears that were rising and struggling to fight them back down. "I'll sell you my life, my body, my damn soul if you want it! Just...give me my navigator back..."

He remembered all the many times Chekov had had his back, one in particular, on Altamid, right after Kalara had discovered they'd pulled one over on her.

"...please."

Moloz's rage was gone, replaced with a look of smug satisfaction. He appraised Jim for a few moments, then looked to the other two.

"And you two? You would let him make such a sacrifice?"

Bones stepped up. "The hell I would! I'll take Chekov's place. Both of them have way too much to live for. Take me instead."

Spock interjected. "Vulcans are physically stronger than humans. I would be the most logical choice to take Mr. Chekov's place. And I, too, will not see my friends be sold off like common herd animals."

Bones whirled. "You have Uhura!"

"And you have a daughter back on Earth, Doctor," Spock replied. "Therefore – "

"Both of you shut up!" Jim snapped. "I volunteered to take his place first, so you two aren't going anywhere."

Moloz had remained perfectly quiet up until now, then said, "Well, I must say, Captain Kirk, you've proved me wrong. Clearly, for some beings, family _isn't_ just a fairy story."

Jim shook his head. "Family is a universal concept," he said. "If even the Klingons have some sense of it, Orions must have, too. I don't know what led you to believe it wasn't real. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to see Chekov before I'm shipped off."

Moloz shook his head. "I'm afraid that's quite impossible."

Jim's gut tensed, and his hand went to his phaser. "What do you mean, impossible?"

"Your friend has already been sold, Kirk. About thirty minutes ago, actually. This little negotiation we've just done was more of an experiment for me. He was right about you. You did come for him. Pity you didn't come in time."

Jim lunged at Moloz, but the Orion was too quick for him. Whipping his own phaser out from a waist holster, he fired, hitting Bones squarely in the stomach. A small grunt escaped before Bones tumbled to the floor.

"Bones!" Jim yelled. Spock ran to check Bones' vitals. Turning to Jim, he nodded.

"He is alive, Captain, only stunned."

Jim turned back to Moloz, who was grinning at him wickedly, his phaser trained at Jim's head.

"Of course I don't want to kill you," he said. "I want you, all of you, to live with the knowledge that, in spite of all your familial affectations, how much you all lord it about like it's the most important thing in the world. It wasn't enough. You will never see your friend again, and he will live the rest of his life thinking you didn't care enough about him to come after him."

Jim's hand was still on his phaser, but he knew if he dared to raise it, Moloz would fire. Even set on stun, a phaser blast to the head wasn't exactly a walk-it-off injury. Still, he was starting to see red.

"Before I let you go, I'm going to tell you exactly what he went through," Moloz growled. "You'll get to hear every punch, every kick, every single thing I did to him, and know that you weren't around to stop any of it. See that blood there on the floor? That was from last night. Usually, I try not to break the skin, but sometimes it just can't be helped – "

Jim had heard enough. Letting out a cry of rage, he knocked Moloz's phaser out of the way, catching the Orion off guard long enough that he could deliver a solid blow to his jaw.

Moloz teetered off balance, and Jim raised his foot, kicking him in the chest. He fell to the ground, and Jim was upon him.

"I'm going to kill you," he hissed. "I'll kill you! What did you do to him?"

He had no idea how many times he hit Moloz, all he knew was that there was blood on his knuckles by the time Spock pulled him off. He couldn't think about controlling himself. All he could do was imagine what this _reptile_ on the floor beneath him had done to Chekov, and how he might be beyond their reach even as they spoke, and he kept on delivering punch after punch to Moloz's face.

"Captain," Spock said, but Jim wasn't listening. He was trying to fight off Spock's iron grip, trying to get back to repaying, blow for blow, everything Moloz had done to his friend.

"Jim!" Spock cried, cutting through the red haze around Jim's consciousness. "There is still time! If the market ended only about thirty minutes ago, the slaves may not have been boarded onto shuttles and left for their destinations yet. Dr. McCoy and I will beam back up to the ship. He needs medical attention if he can be of any help to Chekov and the other prisoners, but you must get to the shuttle bay. _Now_."

Jim looked down at the blood covering his hands, at Moloz's now lifeless body on the floor next to them, then back at Spock. Suddenly he realized that the entire time he'd been beating Moloz, Chekov had likely been getting further and further away from them. And the farther he got, the less likely they were to get him back.

Nodding at Spock, Jim leaped to his feet and ran down the corridor. He had no idea which way their shuttle bay was, and he didn't care. Grabbing his communicator, he barked into it as he ran, "Kirk to bridge!"

"Scott here, Captain."

"Mr. Scott, is that blockade still up?"

"Aye, sir."

"Do _not_ let anyone leave this island! Chekov's been sold, but they may not have left yet. Dr. McCoy is injured, beam him and Mr. Spock back aboard. I'll contact you when I've determined Chekov's location. Kirk out."

Jim's feet pounded against the floor, and he searched frantically for some sign that pointed him in the direction of the shuttle bay, but they were all in the Orions' language. He wasn't a communications officer. Jim let a string of curses fly out of his mouth as he realized he had no idea where to turn next.

They were so close. He couldn't lose Chekov now.


	9. Rescue

The shuttle bay itself had separate holding cells from the slave market itself. They weren't individual, but rather a series of large, communal cells allotted to each of the patrons. Chekov briefly wondered how long the Orion who'd bought him had been on Geshaash, because this particular cell was full to bursting.

There had been a number of slaves sold before him, but none of them were in this cell. He glanced around, and thought he could tell which of them had been there longest. They were the ones whose eyes had lost any trace of fight they might have had.

Chekov turned to the Andorian he'd been sitting next to for the duration of his time here. He was male, looked like he was seasoned at this sort of thing. Maybe he'd already been a slave, and had been sold by his former master. The possibility hadn't even occurred to Chekov that once he'd been purchased, his master might want to sell him again. He shuddered at having to repeat the process, then laughed at himself.

The auction block was likely child's play compared to what the rest of his life would put him through.

"Vat do you know of our...owner?" Chekov asked, barely able to get the word out.

The Andorian turned to him, a knowing expression on his face. "Recently acquired, are you?"

"If by zat you mean zis is ze first time I've been sold," Chekov admitted. "How did you know?"

"The new ones always have problems saying 'owner,'" the Andorian said grimly. "It grates on them, like a mining pick on a slab of rock. Trust me, human, you'd do well to get used to it."

Chekov was about to repeat his question, thoroughly irritated at the constant barrage of people telling him he needed to get used to his new status as a slave, when the Andorian sighed and leaned back against the wall behind them.

"He's called Ngouttin," he told him. "I've never seen him before, but my former master spoke of him occasionally. What I hear is that his slaves... they don't survive long. He tends to run them into the ground before a month is out."

"Us, you mean," a Denobulan to the Andorian's right muttered forlornly. "We're his slaves now, too."

Chekov shook his head, eyeing the cell around him. "Not if I can help it."

The Andorian eyed him sadly. "Don't bother," he said. "Once you're taken by the Syndicate, you'll never escape. Best you learn that early, before they have to beat it into you."

 _It's not like they haven't already tried,_ Chekov thought, but knew that it was no use saying it out loud. No one in this cell had life enough to listen.

Mimicking the Andorian, Chekov leaned back against the wall, replaying the events of the last twenty-four hours in his mind. He'd been so certain that his friends would prove Moloz wrong. This wasn't the first time they'd faced an impossible situation and still managed to come out on top. He'd been there at Altamid. Captain Kirk had pulled everything imaginable to get his crew back, and been successful.

There had been about a hundred of them then, and Krall's base had been even more fortified than this measly city. So why, when there was only one of him, was it so difficult to infiltrate and get him out?

Were they even trying?

Chekov pushed the thoughts away. He was on his own now. And that was one area in which he agreed with the Andorian – he might as well get used to it.

The door creaked open, and their owner, who the Andorian had called Ngouttin, entered, armed with only a single pair of what appeared to be handcuffs. Chekov had to marvel at his confidence. There had to be at least fifty of them in this room, and it would have been relatively easy to jump him.

No one tried, however, and Chekov bit back disappointment. Was it really that easy to break people of their need for freedom, identity, _choice?_

Ngouttin walked to the far side of the cell, reaching down and cuffing the first person he came to, a middle-aged human female.

"For those of you who are new," he said, and Chekov could have sworn his eyes rested on him, and only him as he said it, "these may not look like much. However – "

Ngouttin pressed something on the woman's wrist, and a chain sprouted from the handcuffs, stretching towards the Klingon male to her right and forming cuffs around his own wrists. Chekov wasn't sure what disturbed him more, the fact that those things looked highly durable or that even a Klingon wasn't willing to fight back.

Turning to appraise his prisoners, Ngouttin said, "Plasma cuffs. Don't worry. There's a protective coating around it, so no harm will come to you. But they're nigh impossible to break out of. I wouldn't recommend trying it, either."

Ngouttin slowly worked his way around the room, cuffing them all one by one. Chekov winced as he felt the plasma close around his wrists, but he eyed them nonetheless. Nigh impossible, Ngouttin had said, but not entirely impossible. These things had to have some weakness.

What was his plan after that, though? Steal a shuttle? Not likely. These Orions would shoot him down before he made the atmosphere. Chekov realized that his best chance was to wait until they arrived at Ngouttin's destination and then plan a way out from there.

The final slave was secured, and Ngouttin turned to them again. "Get up," he ordered. "And if anybody thinks to bolt before we get to the shuttle..."

From under the folds of his long coat, he pulled out what resembled an old Earth cattle prod. Upon closer inspection, Chekov saw that it appeared to be a combination of that and a Klingon pain stick. He'd only seen the former in old Earth photographs, the latter on an away mission he'd rather not recall.

Ngouttin powered the device up, and something much like a condensed phaser blast glowed at the end.

"One will sting," he said. "Five will stun. Ten...I don't think any of you want to test that theory, do you?"

Privately, Chekov thought it to be a bit of a rhetorical question.

The cell rose collectively, and Ngouttin turned to the first woman he'd cuffed. He gestured to the door with the phaser stick – which was the best name Chekov could come up with under the circumstances.

"Shouldn't you be walking?" Ngouttin growled. The woman obliged all too happily.

Chekov felt himself yanked along as the other prisoners started to move. Once again, his freedom of choice was taken away as he was led out through the door, past another Orion with a similar phaser stick. Wondering where the Federation could lay their hands on that technology and deciding he'd look into it if he got out of this, Chekov continued on in the swarm of prisoners heading toward a shuttle at the end of the hangar.

Wait a minute. _If?_ Chekov stopped dead in his tracks and was yanked onward by the Andorian in front of him, who shuffled forward as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

When had he started saying _if_ he got out of this? He'd been so sure this entire time that he would make it out, that he would get away, that he'd never used the word "if" until just now. When had he started to accept the possibility of defeat?

His heart sinking, Chekov realized it had been the instant he knew no one was coming for him. It was when he'd figured out he was truly on his own.

He knew it was completely hopeless, but Chekov cast one last glance toward the opposite end of the shuttle bay, thinking maybe someone would come running in at the last minute. But there was nothing.

A sting singed through his ribs, and Chekov cried out in pain. He looked over to see Ngouttin next to him, glaring and brandishing the phaser stick.

"Is there a reason you're holding up everyone else?" the Orion growled.

Chekov glared at him and started trudging forward once more. Any hope he'd had for a last minute rescue was gone.

But as he neared the shuttle, he thought he heard...no, that was absolutely ridiculous. It had been so faint, it could well have been his imagination.

No, there it was again! Chekov's head rose, and he turned once more, making sure to continue onward so he wouldn't get the business end of that stick again. It almost sounded like he'd heard someone calling his –

 _"CHEKOV!"_

As far as the cuffs would allow him, Chekov whirled. There, in the shuttle bay's door, stood Kirk, looking for all the world as if he'd run the length of this island. New hope was lent to Chekov's heart, one that he hadn't felt since the last time he'd heard Kirk calling his name out of nowhere, back on Altamid.

Because much like then, he'd known that no matter whether they made it out alive or not, at least he wasn't alone.

Jim would never be able to remember how he got here. He'd honestly just run aimlessly for the past two minutes, turning random corners and hoping he'd make it to the shuttle bay. There hadn't been much else he could do, as he wasn't able to read the signs in Orion and they hadn't bothered to translate it to anything else.

But James Kirk had always had an exceptional amount of luck for a man who'd almost been sucked into a black hole, died, and managed to get himself stuck on a distant planet twice. And somehow, he'd found it.

Jim skidded to a stop in the open shuttle bay door, scanning the prisoners. _He has to be here,_ he thought. _He has to be here, he has to be here. Come on, Chekov, where are you?_

And then he spotted him. On the far side of the hangar, being slowly pulled toward a shuttle by a veritable tide of other prisoners. In that instant, Jim didn't know what came over him, but he had to let him know. He had to let Chekov know that they hadn't forgotten him.

"Chekov!" he called. No response. Jim tried again, and saw Chekov stiffen just a little. Jim couldn't believe none of the Orions had tried to see what the commotion was by now, but he wasn't complaining at all.

By now, Chekov was far too close to the shuttle for Jim's comfort. Cupping his hands around his mouth, Jim let out one last bellow. _"CHEKOV!"_

He thought relief was going to consume him when, even from that distance, he saw Chekov's eyes light up. _What, did he think I was just going to leave him to rot? Even_ from here, he could see the black and blue markings lining his friend's torso, and Jim cursed himself that they hadn't just taken off after Moloz's ship as soon as they'd left.

The Orion that was standing next to Chekov poked him with that stick they all seemed to be carrying, and Jim saw Chekov give a groan of pain, but he didn't turn around. The Orion poked him again, and this time Chekov was on his knees.

Jim let out a roar of fury and began pushing his way through the Orions and their prisoners, knowing that he really should be focusing on the slaves as a whole but in that instant only really caring about getting Chekov out of here – right after kicking that Orion's ass.

An Orion trader made to jab at him with one of those sticks, which looked like a concentrated phaser blast. Jim dodged and fired a phaser blast at him. He hadn't taken the time to aim, and it missed the Orion's shoulder, but still managed to catch his ear. Moaning in pain, the Orion grabbed his burned temple and fell to the ground. Jim pressed onward.

By now, however, the Orions were onto him, and they came upon him in swarms. Jim fired blast after blast, now able to aim more correctly. He wouldn't be any help to Chekov if he were dead. He managed to get closer and closer to the chain of prisoners Chekov was attached to. Seeing hope on the horizon, they pushed closer to him, instead of shuffling toward the shuttlecraft as they'd been doing earlier.

But the Orions had swarmed him now. Jim knew he wasn't going to keep a handle on his phaser much longer, so he decided his last shot needed to count.

He fired at the nearest prisoner to him.

A Vulcan male, the man might have looked shocked if what Jim had done hadn't been so logical. The cuffs around his wrists dissipated, along with those of the prisoners behind him. Jim looked ahead to see that they had all been freed. That would have included Chekov. His job here was done. They could do what they wanted with him now, he just wanted Chekov off of this planet safely. And now he could do that.

A pair of Orions grabbed him by the arms, stripping him of his phaser and forcing him to his knees. Jim knew that, with the prisoner to trader ratio, they could overpower his captors easily, but the only Orions the prisoners appeared to show interest in taking down were those manning the shuttles.

Pandemonium erupted in the shuttle bay as prisoners threw Orions out of the crafts, scrambling for a place in the shuttles and screaming when the doors slammed shut. Jim marveled at how it was so easy for them to leave behind their fellow slaves at the chance of escaping themselves. Panic began to grow inside of him. What if Chekov didn't make it out?

He started fighting against the Orions holding him, kicking out and attempting to rise. They all but tackled him, holding his face to the ground. Jim's thoughts went to Carol, to their unborn son, but once again settled on his friend, who was in this bedlam somewhere.

 _"Chekov!"_ he called again. "If you can hear me, get out! Leave me and get out of here!"

The Orions raised their phaser sticks, looking as though they were going to enjoy this, when a voice called, "Wait!"

Jim glanced up to see a pair of very heavy boots clomping towards him, and an infuriated Orion staring down at his prone form.

"This one's mine," he said, casting aside his own phaser stick and drawing a knife out from underneath his jacket.

Jim eyed the Orion, who bent down so he could hear his whisper.

"I saw the way my slave reacted to your arrival," the Orion said. "Clearly you're here for him. Well, I have news for you. I bought him, therefore he belongs to me now. If you were going to live through what I'll do to you, it would teach you to try stealing other people's property."

Jim glared up at him. "He's not your property," he spat. "And he doesn't belong to anyone. So go ahead and use that knife of yours on me, but I'll never regret what I did here."

The Orion stood, chuckling to himself. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this."

He raised his knife above his head and was about to bring it down upon Jim, where exactly, Jim had no idea, when he stopped, frozen in midair. He started convulsing, shaking as though having a seizure, then fell onto his side, the knife falling out of his grip.

Chekov was standing directly behind where he'd been, phaser stick in hand, a murderous look Jim had never seen before in his eyes.

"Not nearly as much as I enjoyed zat," he growled.

Without a word, he then stunned the two Orions holding Jim captive. The others had all realized that their prisoners were getting away and went off to try to quell the damage. Chekov pulled Jim to his feet.

"Are you all right, Keptin?" he asked.

Jim's eyes bulged. "You've been held captive by the Orion Syndicate for four days, obviously had the snot beaten out of you, been sold, chained, and poked with – with whatever _that_ thing is" – he pointed to the phaser stick in Chekov's hands – "and you're asking me if _I'm_ all right?"

Chekov shrugged. "You _vere_ ze von about to get sliced in half," he pointed out.

Jim nodded. "Fair enough. What do you say we – "

"Keptin, duck!" Chekov shouted. Without knowing why, Jim did so, and Chekov stabbed over his head with the phaser stick, stunning an Orion who'd been about to do the same to him.

Figuring he might as well be of some assistance getting out of here, Jim fumbled about in the jackets of the Orions who'd been holding him against the floor. Finding his phaser, he rose, seeing Chekov holding his own against the traders. Jim secretly thought he'd never been so proud. He and Sulu had been teaching Chekov well.

He and Chekov were in a back-to-back position by now, holding off the Orions who were now surrounding them. Jim called back over his shoulder, "You're pretty good with that thing, Chekov!"

Chekov stabbed it into the gut of another trader, sending him rocketing back into another two that were coming their way. "You sound surprised!"

"Well, it's not like you have the best aim!" Jim replied. "I mean, if you'll remember Altamid – "

Chekov groaned, currently engaged in a standoff with yet another Orion, barely holding him back with the phaser stick. "Vould you stop bringing zat up? I vas under duress!"

"You saw them coming before I did. You had time to aim." Jim, aiming himself, fired at a trader coming up on his left, then another whom he'd seen out of his peripherals about to go for Chekov's side.

"You vound me, sir," Chekov replied. His tone was playful at first, but then it grew barbed. "If I could have aimed" – he returned the favor with one coming up from beyond Jim's line of sight – "you might have gotten here a _bit_ sooner!"

That one stung. At last, no one was coming at them, and Jim turned around to face his friend, finally taking in the extent of what Moloz had done.

Chekov's face was mostly fine, but for one cut on his lip. Honestly, if that was all it had been, Jim might have been able to handle it. But his eyes moved down to Chekov's torso. Black and blue reigned supreme all over, in varying shades. There were three burns from where his owner had poked him with the phaser stick. Jim felt a catch in his throat.

Looking back up at Chekov's eyes, he saw a war raging behind them. Part of it was relief that he actually had come, but there was still that lingering sense of betrayal. Chekov really had thought Jim was going to leave him behind to rot in an Orion mining camp for the rest of his life.

"I'm sorry," Jim said, knowing that at any minute another attack could come but not caring. "I'm so sorry."

Chekov opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He let out a cry of pain as his face contorted. He curled around his torso and fell to the ground.

Jim, eyes wide with horror, found himself staring at the Orion who'd bought Chekov, his knife regained, now stained with blood. If Chekov had had a murderous look in his eyes earlier, it was nothing compared to this one right now.

The Orion started to step over Chekov to come at Jim, but Jim was coming to him first. The first phaser blast hit the Orion in the torso, identical to the spot where he'd stabbed Chekov. This one staggered him, but didn't quite take him down. The next one, Jim decided to aim a little higher. It took him in the head, knocking him completely down for the count.

Satisfied that their opponent was neutralized, Jim whirled back to find Chekov still curled up on the floor, coughing up blood.

"No," he muttered. "No, no, no, _no_!"

Ripping off his own shirt, Jim pressed it against Chekov's stomach, watching it soak with blood. The knife had gone clean through, though, so Jim wasn't sure what to do about the blood seeping from his friend's back. He wasn't equipped to deal with this. Chekov needed Bones.

Taking the shirt away, Jim twisted it, tying around Chekov's torso and hoping it would work. Seeing the life starting to slip out of Chekov's eyes, Jim propped him up against his knees and cried, "Hey, look at me! Don't you give up on me now, okay? We just got you back." His voice broke, and he fumbled for his communicator.

"Scotty, do you have our signals?"

"Aye, sir, you and Chekov both!"

"Beam us directly to Med Bay," Jim said. Another look at Chekov showed that his eyes were starting to slip closed. "No!" Jim practically screamed, not caring if one of the Orions milling about them heard and grabbed them before they were beamed out. He grabbed the sides of Chekov's face and forced his friend's eyes open. "Look at me, you're not giving in now! You're not giving up! That is a damn order, Chekov!"

But it wasn't any use. Chekov's eyes slid shut. Jim started shaking him.

"Chekov! _Pavel_!"

He hadn't even noticed the transporter beams starting to materialize around him. He didn't notice Bones and Spock both running over as soon as they showed up in Med Bay. He just kept screaming Chekov's name over and over, pleading with him to not give up, to not give in.

Bones reached down to take Chekov, and Jim found himself clinging on even tighter.

"No!" he shouted, practically shoving Bones away. "He has to wake up! He has to make it!"

Spock, in turn, pulled Jim away kicking and screaming, as Bones, a bandage wrapped around his head, and a medical team carted Chekov off toward the operating room.

"Spock, let go!" Jim shouted, but Spock was doing no such thing and Jim knew by now that in a physical battle, he was no match for his first officer. Spock dragged him out of Med Bay, forcing him up against the wall.

"Dammit, Spock, let me in there!"

"Captain, you will do Mr. Chekov no good if you are getting in Dr. McCoy's way," Spock said placidly. "If you wish him to survive, you are better served out here."

Jim, knowing that it would do no good but not really caring in this instance, sent a punch at Spock's jaw. Spock anticipated and caught it, once again shoving Jim up against the wall, this time with more force.

" _Jim_!" Spock said. "I will say it again, if you wish Mr. Chekov to survive, your place is not in Medical Bay. You must calm down."

Falling back against the wall, panting, Jim knew Spock was right. He knew it. And he felt the hysteria start to fade, replaced now by the agony of having failed. His goal was to get Chekov safely off of the planet. He'd gotten him off, but at what cost?

The tears started coming. Jim had made it a goal to never cry in front of his crew, not like this, anyway. He hadn't even cried like this when he was about to die in that warp core, and that was the only time they'd seen him get even close to tears. But now gut-wrenching sobs tore from him. Spock responded by letting him go.

Jim leaned against the wall for support, letting the tears come out for the first time in this entire endeavor. Uhura, Sulu, and Scotty, upon hearing that Jim and Chekov were back, ran down the corridor. Seeing Jim's distraught state, they turned to Spock, fearing the worst.

"He is in surgery," Spock said. "We are unsure of his condition – "

"It's bad," Jim managed to choke out. "It's really, really bad."

Scotty turned away, not willing to let the rest of them see the emotion on his face. Sulu had grown tense, his fists balling in and out. Uhura, fighting back her own tears, went up to Jim and embraced him. He tensed up at first, then sobbed against her shoulder, accepting the comfort he'd so long denied from any member of his crew.

And they waited.


	10. Aftermath

It had been two hours, and the only word they'd gotten was that it was taking longer than expected. Jim was not proud of the way he'd spoken to the nurse who gave them that piece of news. What was that supposed to mean? It was taking longer than expected to save him, or he was taking longer than expected to...?

Jim didn't even let himself contemplate that outcome. Chekov wasn't going to die. He had to pull through. He had to.

Finally, as two hours slipped slowly toward three, Bones came out of Med Bay into the waiting room. After Jim had calmed down, they finally let the senior crew in to wait, away from the prying eyes of the crew. Jim was grateful for that. If he'd been uncomfortable with his closest friends seeing him cry, it was nothing compared to if the rest of the crew did.

Bones looked grim. Jim fought down another rising tide of hysteria as he looked up into his CMO and best friend's eyes. Uhura, seated on one side of him, gripped his arm, and even Spock, on his other side, tensed up just slightly. Jim didn't see how Scotty and Sulu were doing. He didn't take his eyes off of Bones.

Bones ran a hand over his face and sighed, as though he wasn't quite sure how to put this.

"Just tell us, Bones," Jim choked out. "Whatever you've got to say, it's not going to be any easier if it's dragged out."

Bones nodded. "Honestly? I don't know, Jim. I've done all I can do. He held on okay through the surgery, but from here on out, it's up to Chekov whether he lives or – "

Bones' voice broke off, and his mouth snapped shut. Jim had only seen him this way once before, when he'd thought his visitation rights to his daughter might get taken away. He'd broken down then, and Jim knew he was fighting hard not to do the same now.

Much as she'd done with Jim, Uhura rose and embraced Bones. If possible, he took even longer to respond than Jim did. But when he did, rather than take it as further license to break down, Bones seemed to draw strength from it. As though sensing he was doing okay again, Uhura released him, and he straightened out, clearing his throat.

"I'd better get back in there," he said. "Keep an eye on him. I want to be there if – if anything happens." He turned to Sulu. "You're his closest friend. Would you want to come in and sit with him for a bit? If Jim doesn't need you on the bridge, anyway."

Jim shook his head. "At this rate, none of us would be of any use on the bridge. The only way to keep this ship running is if we aren't part of it for the time being."

Bones nodded, turning back to Sulu. Sulu was surprisingly calm. The man had hardly batted an eye, just taking in the report they'd been given.

"In that case, I'd like that," was all he said. Jim wondered if he didn't trust himself to say much more. The way he hurried off toward Med Bay practically confirmed it.

Bones gripped Jim's arm before he hurried off after Sulu. He opened his mouth, as though he were about to assure Jim it would be okay, but appeared to think better of it. Shaking his head, he let go, but Jim grabbed him before he could.

"Don't push yourself too hard, Bones," he said. "You're hurt too, you know."

Bones brushed it off. "A phaser blast is a damn sight better than a knife wound, Jim."

"I mean it, Bones," Jim said. "I know I never listen to you, but can you listen to _me_ just this once?"

Bones sighed and nodded. "Fine, but I'm not leaving Chekov. Not until there's some development in his condition."

Jim watched him leave, then steeled himself and turned back to Spock, Uhura, and Scotty. Uhura had a hand over her mouth, clearly trying to hold it together, but the tears that slipped out of her eyes betrayed her. Spock's eyes were trained on her. Jim knew that Vulcans preferred not to physically touch anyone, even their mates, in public. If Jim had anything to say about it though, they'd be able to comfort each other soon enough.

"You two," he said. "I want you both in one or the other of your quarters. You'll be off-duty for at least a day. With all that you've done today, you've earned it. And like I told Bones...I don't think any of us will do much good on the bridge."

Spock nodded and surprised Jim by putting a hand on Uhura's back, leading her out of Med Bay. Jim then turned to Scotty, who was barely more successful than Uhura at keeping his tears in.

"You, too, Scotty," Jim said. "You can stay in your quarters, or, if Bones allows it, go in there. You might do Chekov some good, too."

Scotty nodded. "What – what about you, sir?"

Jim sighed. "I don't think I'll be much good either on the bridge, or here."

Scotty eyed him. "He considers you a close friend, too, you know."

Looking away, Jim fought back the rising catch in his chest. "I know," he said. "And he's one of mine, too. But I just...don't think we should overcrowd him, you know? Give him some room to breathe."

 _Please keep breathing._

Scotty nodded. Jim grabbed his shoulder, opening his mouth to say something more, but it suddenly flew from his mind. He made for the door, leaving Scotty standing there. Whether he would choose to go in or follow after him, Jim had no idea.

All he could think about was getting to his communicator. He had a call to make.

* * *

The person on the bed certainly looked like Chekov, but Sulu had a hard time believing this was his friend. Chekov wasn't exactly a tan guy to begin with, but he was more deathly pale than Sulu had ever seen him. Sulu had had the horrible idea to pull the sheet down to see what Chekov's torso looked like and immediately wished he hadn't. He'd seen Chekov after a few – less-than-advisable – bar fights, but things had never been this bad. Probably because he'd had someone around to back him up in those situations, Scotty or Kirk, or Sulu himself.

Sulu thought of what his friend had likely been through the past few days and felt sick to his stomach.

His eyes tracked down to where McCoy had bandaged the wound and winced. He didn't need to see that much. The door slid open, revealing Scotty, who slowly trudged up to the bedside. Sulu quickly covered Chekov's torso up. Scotty didn't need to see it, either.

Scotty pulled up a pair of chairs for both himself and Sulu, and the pair of them sat down while McCoy came up, a hypospray in hand.

"What's that for?" Scotty asked as McCoy jabbed it into Chekov's neck.

"Reduces risk of infection," McCoy muttered, setting the hypospray aside and adjusting the sheets just slightly. Apparently, Sulu hadn't put them back properly. He rolled his eyes. Once the mom friend...

"Is that still a possibility?" Sulu asked.

McCoy shrugged. "Like I said, his overall condition is a bit up in the air at this point." He pulled up a chair for himself and sat down on the other side of Chekov's biobed. The three men were silent for a moment.

"Can he hear us?" Sulu asked, looking up at McCoy.

McCoy frowned. "I've heard it's possible. Can't say I've seen it work personally, but, we could try, you know."

Sulu nodded and cleared his throat. "Worth a try, I think." He sat back, realizing suddenly that now that he'd suggested the thing, he had absolutely no idea what to say to someone in a practical coma.

Sighing, he figured that he might as well just say the first thing that came to his mind and get it over with. If he sounded like a fool, that was okay. He doubted McCoy or Scotty would do any better when their turns came.

"You know, I'm pretty sure you're the only person who could manage to get this many of us into Med Bay at once, Chekov," he tried, laughing weakly. McCoy snorted across the bed and muttered something about that not being far from the truth. Sulu allowed the bit of humor to pass, but grew serious quickly.

"Look, Chekov," he said. "We need you to pull through this, okay? I'm pretty sure that if you don't make it, we'll all be following fairly soon after. Because we'd all kill each other without you around. You're our equilibrium. It just...won't be the same without you. We won't ever be whole again."

"Not to mention that you owe it to _yourself_ to make it and live a freakishly long life," McCoy growled. "You've got way too much ahead of you to quit on us now, kid."

Scotty cleared his throat, nodding. "We need you to pull through. And _you_ need you to pull through, laddie. So, don't give up yet, laddie. Please."

They fell silent once more, but there was no result. Chekov lay just as still as ever. McCoy frowned at the sweat beading on his forehead.

"Is he feverish?" he mused, pressing the back of his hand against Chekov's brow. "He doesn't feel like it... He feels cold."

Sulu rested his head in his hands, wishing there was some solution to this, something he could _do_ to make sure his friend pulled through.

Then an idea entered Sulu's head, and it was crazy, but it might actually work...

Standing up and walking over to the computer, he said, "Computer, locate the passengers picked up on Geshaash."

They were all clustered together in a set of guest quarters. He searched through the names and found Lauren, the girl who had been held captive with Chekov on Moloz's ship.

Pressing the comm button, he said, "Med Bay to Lauren."

A moment of silence. "Ummm...I'm not really sure how this works."

Sulu couldn't help laughing, and Scotty and McCoy joined in. "Just keep talking like you're doing. It'll work. Look, um...could you come down to Med Bay?"

There was another long pause, and she sounded unsure. "Sure...why?"

It occurred to Sulu that no one had probably updated her on Chekov's situation. He sighed. "You'll see when you get down here."

"I don't think so," she growled. "I'm not leaving this room until you tell me why you want me there."

The defensiveness in her tone threw Sulu off just slightly, but he then remembered that she'd been a victim of sex slavery. No wonder she was suspicious, especially of him, a male. What he wouldn't give to have Uhura here now. Lauren had gravitated to her during the rescue, seeming to trust her innately, while automatically distrusting him.

"Look, Lauren," he began, hoping he sounded gentle, not condescending. "Chekov's in bad shape. I think he might pull through if you gave him some encouragement."

She waited another painfully long moment before responding. Sulu glanced back at Chekov, whom Bones was still hovering over. Looking back to the computer, Sulu grit his teeth.

"What makes you think he'll do it for me if he hasn't done it for you?" she finally said.

Sulu reminded himself that regardless of cause, murder was still illegal on most planets. Throttling this girl would not help matters any.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But if this is going to work, you're our last hope."

* * *

Jim had held it together successfully all the way from Med Bay. He made it to his quarters without breaking down. He'd commed the lieutenant currently holding the bridge, telling them to warp away from the planet as fast as possible and resume command for the time being without batting an eye. He'd even entered the coordinates for the message he intended to send, and no tears came.

But when it didn't go to video message, and Carol showed up in the view screen, he knew it was only a matter of time. Her eyes lit up, as did her smile, and she cried, "Jim!"

He dissolved.

Jim didn't look up to see her face before he was through, but when he did, she looked half concerned, half stricken. Once his sobs faded into deep, shuddering breaths, she said, "Jim...what's wrong?"

He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

"Is it...is it the baby? Jim, I thought you'd be happy about him!" Carol looked as though she didn't know whether to cry along with him or come through the screen and smack him a good one across the face.

Jim cleared his throat. "No!" he exclaimed, wondering how she could even doubt it. "Carol, we're having a baby! I am the happiest damn man alive right now!" His voice trailed off into more sobs. She raised an eyebrow.

"Forgive me if I find that hard to believe, James," she said, not unkindly.

He took in another gulp of air. "It's not the baby," he managed to choke out.

Carol almost looked relieved, but what he'd left unsaid manifested itself in her eyes. They were wide with fear.

"Who is it, Jim?" she asked, already having guessed the worst.

He shook his head, struggling to say it, even to Carol.

"It's Chekov," he finally said, the words coming out in a deep, anguished moan.

Carol's hands flew up to her mouth, and Jim could see her beginning to break down just as he had two minutes ago.

"He's alive," he reassured her. "For now. But we – we don't know how long – "

The silence pervaded between them again. Carol, tears still in her eyes but more composed than before, nodded at him.

"What happened, Jim?"

He told her everything, starting with the away mission gone wrong and ending with Bones' verdict. Through the whole thing, she sat silently, listening, her eyes intent on him in spite of the fact that he couldn't look into hers. Because after all that had happened, he still couldn't deny that his mind hadn't been where it should have been.

"I'm so sorry, Carol," he whispered. "I'm sorry our son almost didn't get to have a father."

"Don't be sorry, you dolt!" she exclaimed, sounding scandalized. Jim knew that he would have received at least a smack to the arm if she'd been there in person. "You saved Chekov from an awful fate! I swear, if I could get my hands on this Moloz – "

"There probably wouldn't be much more to do with him," Jim muttered. "Spock says he didn't move after I left. I think I might have killed him."

Carol looked as though she wanted to say Moloz had deserved it, but she didn't. She knew that wouldn't have helped him, wouldn't have assuaged his guilt at all. Because in spite of all that Moloz had put Chekov through, Jim still regretted taking his life. It was a sensation he'd never get used to.

Sighing, Carol said, "Don't be sorry, Jim. I understand why you did it. And I'm sure our son will, too."

The words "our son" dragged Jim out of his stupor and reminded him, if only for a brief moment, that he was going to be a father. He inched closer to the screen, wishing he could be there with her now. "How far along are you?"

Carol raised an eyebrow. "I left the _Enterprise_ four months ago, Jim. I think you can figure this one out."

"What?" he asked, feigning offense. "It could have been any of the times we... I mean, it didn't have to be the last time!"

She smiled contentedly, laying a hand over her stomach. "Well, judging by the due date, it was."

"Tell me about him," Jim said, then winced. He remembered his mother saying that his father had once asked the same thing. The only difference was Jim wasn't the one about to die in this situation, and neither was Carol or their baby. They would keep on living. His son, however, would never know one of his many surrogate uncles.

 _I swear if he makes it out, I won't complain when he teaches my son Russian profanity,_ Jim promised, to whom, he didn't know.

"Well, I hardly know anything about him yet," Carol said. "Just that he makes me vomit on a regular basis and is still a tiny little thing. Am I showing yet?" She turned to the side, showing off her stomach as though she were the poster girl for pregnancy.

Jim chuckled. "Not even a little."

Carol laughed back drily. "You flatter me, Jim." She eyed him. "I've been thinking about names..."

"Already?" he asked. "Carol, you're only four months along!"

"Yes, but I've known for a while," she said. "Also, I've had a lot more time to contemplate the matter. I haven't been crashing on an unknown planet, saving a Starbase, or infiltrating an Orion slaving colony in the past month or so. Anyway, I was thinking...would you like to name him after your father?"

Jim thought on the matter. He'd been named after both of his grandfathers. Maybe it could become a family tradition, if his son had kids. That was an awkward thought. The idea of being a grandfather scared him even more than being a father did. George... Though he missed the father he'd never known more than he'd thought possible as he was sitting here, about to become a father himself, he thought about calling his son George and...it just didn't sit right with him. His son would be a walking reminder of the parent he'd lost, and he didn't want that for him. He wanted him to be his own person. Still, he didn't mind the idea of giving his son a family name.

Well, he couldn't very well do what his parents had done and just pick the maternal grandfather. Little Alexander would be named after a mass murderer. That was a patently awful idea.

"My dad's middle name was David," he said. "What about that?"

Carol nodded. "David," she tested it out. "I like it."

Jim longed to lean his head up against the screen, if only to feel closer to her, but he knew all that would do would be to enlarge his face. It couldn't close the distance between them, between him and their son. He still had two years left of this five-year-mission. The likelihood was that he wouldn't be there for Carol's pregnancy. What if he couldn't be there for the birth?

"Let's talk at least once a week," Carol said, as though reading his thoughts. "If not more. I don't know if I can do another few months again, Jim."

He nodded. "I will pull _every_ string in the book to be able to get there when he's born," he told her.

"I know you will," she said, smiling at him.

Jim sighed. "I have to go debrief the slaves we rescued from Moloz's ship," he said. They had twenty prisoners that hadn't been taken to the market along with Chekov, not to mention the fifteen Orions running the ship that needed to be transported to Yorktown for imprisonment.

"Are you sure you'll be able to focus?" she asked, eyeing him. "Your mind may have been on our baby and I just now, but I know Chekov's slowly slipping back in. He's doing that with me, too."

Jim leaned back and sighed. "I don't know," he said. "But I have to try. If they have families to get back to, we need to inform them that they've been rescued. Maybe some people will get a happy ending out of this."

"We may yet, too, Jim," she said softly. "Don't give up hope yet. Chekov's stronger than any of us know."

He nodded. And in that instant, he knew there was nothing more to say. Well, save for one thing.

"I love you, Carol."

That smile was back, and it brought a thrill to his heart to see it. "I love you, too, Jim. I would ask you to give Chekov a kiss for me, but something tells me you wouldn't follow through on that one."

Jim considered. "You're probably right. Though if he pulls through...who knows what I'll do?"

She laughed. "I'll talk to you soon. Let me know as soon as... As soon as anything happens."

He nodded soberly. "Will do."

* * *

Sulu certainly wasn't expecting any warm feelings coming off of Lauren, but he also didn't expect her to completely brush by him and Scotty. In fact, the vibe she gave was so cold, Scotty scooted his chair away from her just slightly. The only ones she seemed to feel vaguely comfortable around were the doctor and the half-dead man. Sulu had to wonder if it wasn't because they were the ones least likely to harm her.

Lauren took the spot where Sulu had been not five minutes before and looked up at McCoy. "So, what am I doing here again?"

Sulu bit back his irritation. He'd explained that to her. Probably twice.

McCoy, however, was the patient one for once. "Talk to him."

"What do I say? I barely know him," she said, and Sulu realized there was the barest hint of uncertainty in her voice. Maybe this was a lot of pressure for her. After all, she'd just come out of a traumatic situation, and now they were asking her to try to all but resurrect someone.

"Whatever you need to," McCoy said. "We'll stand back if you want. Just... try for us, will you?"

She stared down at Chekov as McCoy and Scotty went to stand by Sulu at the door. Leaning back in the chair and sighing, she began.

"Um, hi. It's me, Lauren. We were in a cell together that one time. So, listen...I guess you're not doing so well. They tell me they don't know whether you're going to pull out of it or not, and they want me to tell you to try. Well, I'm sorry, but I can't do that."

Scotty opened his mouth to interject, but Sulu, as much as it pained him to do so, cut him off.

"See what she has to say," he muttered.

"I can't do that because if I did, I'd be the biggest hypocrite in the universe," she said.

Scotty's eyes widened. "That... was nae what I expected," he whispered to Sulu.

"Told you to let her talk."

"All those times I was...with...Moloz, he'd taunt me afterward. He'd say that my family didn't care enough about me to come after me, that my father never even sent any distress call out that I'd been captured. I don't know if that's true or not, Pavel, but... after a while, I started to believe him. I still believe him. And I wanted to die. I still do, sometimes, too.

"But whatever's true of my family...that's not true of yours. Obviously, they care about you, a lot. And you're not even their own blood. I mean, look at you all. I was bored, so I looked up the senior crew in the ship's computer. You're all different. Different ages, different races, as far as that goes, different _species_ , for goodness' sake. And yet you're a family, and they went through hell to get you back.

"You've got a really good thing going on here, Pavel. That alone is worth living for. So maybe I can tell you that you have to try to pull through, because you have people to live for, and you can know it. I don't, and probably won't, because I don't know if I could face my family right now.

"With that being said...you're practically the only person I trust on this ship right now, Pavel. And I have no idea where to go after this. Something tells me you'd have a few ideas up your sleeve. You gave me hope of escape when I had none. Granted, that hope came crashing down about five minutes after it was sprung, but...if your friends didn't love you as much as they did, I would still be on that ship.

"I owe you a lot. I owe everyone here a lot. So don't you dare die, because I'm not letting you before I get a chance to repay that debt!"

In the first show of vulnerability Sulu had seen from her, she buried her head in her hands and was silent. He couldn't tell if she was crying or not, and didn't care to. Averting his eyes, Sulu struggled to hold his emotions in. He'd been doing so well this entire time, and now this girl was breaking him.

A small thrill of hope raced through him, however, when Scotty nudged his shoulder. Sulu looked up at Chekov and saw that the corners of his friend's mouth were tipped up. Glancing over at Scotty, he saw an earsplitting grin on the other man's face and found his own echoing it.

"Thank God," McCoy muttered, his shoulders sagging in relief.

Lauren still hadn't noticed anything. Chekov was grinning by now.

"Have you considered applying for Starfleet Academy?" he asked, his voice creaky, like an old house back on Earth. Lauren's head shot up and she stared at him, openmouthed. Chekov's eyes opened, bloodshot, and he turned to her, not losing that mischievous look. "From vat I saw, you vould be vonderful in Communications."

Lauren looked as though she wanted to smack him. "How long have you been awake?" she demanded.

He shrugged, then winced. "Long enough," he said. He looked over at McCoy, Scotty, and Sulu, and weakly raised a hand in greeting. "Hello."

Scotty was indignant. "Hello?" he demanded. " _Hello_? That's all ye have tae say, laddie? Ye get yerself kidnapped by the bloody Orion Syndicate, sold as a slave, all while making us chase ye hither, thither and yon, and then, tae top it all off, go and get yerself stabbed and worry us all to death for nearly four hours. And all ye have tae say is 'hello'?"

Chekov looked a bit too happy to see them all to take offense. He just continued grinning.

Scotty looked back to Sulu and McCoy. "Hello, he says. _Hello_."

Bones gave him a knowing gaze. "Go ahead. Just don't hurt him."

And in an instant, Scotty was over at the bedside, hugging Chekov as hard as he could without rupturing anything. Sulu sat down next to him, waiting his turn, while McCoy stood off to the side, hand on Lauren's shoulder. Shockingly, she didn't seem to mind. Upon closer inspection, Sulu saw that Chekov was hugging Scotty back so hard his knuckles were white.

"Dinnae ever do that to me again, wee man!" Scotty scolded. "We thought we lost ye there for a while."

Chekov looked up at Sulu over Scotty's shoulder. While Sulu was overjoyed to have his friend back, he saw something in Chekov's eyes that he never had before. Or perhaps it was that something had gone out of them. Either way, he could see Chekov wasn't so sure they _hadn't_.

McCoy motioned for Lauren to get up. "Well, I think that's enough excitement for one day. We should probably limit it to one visitor at a time, so we don't overwork him."

The look Chekov shot his way signaled that he was nothing short of a traitor. "I can handle – "

"Oh, no, you don't!" McCoy said. "I swear, kid, you're just as bad as Jim! Lauren, you've said your peace. Scotty, he'll be around when the others have had done with him. Sulu...you can stick around for a while. Just as soon as Jim gets here, you're done, too. I swear, Chekov, between you, Jim, and Spock, you'll all be the death of me one day!"

He turned to go, but then went back and squeezed Chekov's shoulder. "It's really good to see you back safe, kid. We were worried."

Chekov eyed him. " _You_ vere vorried? I vouldn't have guessed."

McCoy's glare returned and he walked away, muttering under his breath. Chekov turned to Lauren, who hadn't quite made up her mind to leave yet.

"Seriously," Chekov said. "Talk to me about ze Academy when you come back in. I mean, you are going to come back and wisit me before you go, right?"

Lauren nodded. "Sure. I'll be back." She hesitated. "I'm – I'm glad you're okay, too. It didn't seem fair to me if I made it and you didn't. It just didn't seem fair."

And with that she fled the room. Scotty looked from Sulu to Chekov.

"I'll go check on her," he said. "I figure I'll give you two some time."

They were silent for a few moments as he left, then Chekov went in to embrace Sulu, who clung to his friend as though he were a lifeline.

"They aren't wrong, you know," Sulu said. "You _did_ have us all worried. Especially just now."

"It's not like I _planned_ on getting captured by ze Orions," Chekov muttered. "Of all ze things I intended to do before I died, zat vas not on ze list."

Sulu let the moment sit in silence for a few minutes, still not letting go. "Just remember one thing, Pavel." He pulled back and looked Chekov in the eyes. "No matter what happened to you down there, no matter what you went through, no matter what they did, that doesn't change who you are. You're a little less..."okay," than you once were, I guess, but don't think for an instant that it changes who you are, or how we see you."

Chekov nodded. For the first time in this entire ordeal, he was close to tears. He opened his mouth, as though he were going to respond, but for now, it appeared nodding was all he could do.

Sulu gripped his shoulder and stood. "Something tells me McCoy's off contacting the captain. And then you know he'll probably be bawling out of relief in his office afterward. I get the feeling he does that more often than we know. I'll see you soon, though."

Sulu turned around, heading for the door. He didn't want Chekov to know he'd be doing the exact same thing once he got back to his own quarters.

* * *

Chekov didn't know how long it had taken McCoy to contact Kirk. All he knew was that within five minutes of Sulu leaving the room, Kirk was in the doorway, once again, looking like he'd just run a few miles.

Kirk stood there for a few minutes, looking like he wanted to speak but didn't quite know what to say. Finally, he managed to get out, "Welcome back."

Chekov gave him a look. "Zat's how you greet me after I all but vake up from a coma?" He'd intended it to be a touch of humor in what was probably going to be a very heavy conversation, but knew it had fallen flat when Kirk's face crumpled.

One of the crewmembers who had never actually seen his captain cry before, Chekov was caught a bit off guard. It further baffled him that these tears were for _him_. Kirk stumbled over to the seat Lauren had occupied, shoulders shaking.

"I'm sorry, Chekov," he said. "I'm just so sorry."

Chekov stared at him, wondering what exactly he was sorry for. "It vasn't your fault, Keptin," he said. "It's not like you knew Moloz vas vaiting on ze planet ven you sent me down zere."

Kirk shook his head. "But I could have gotten to you faster," he said. "I could have had Scotty lock onto our signals and beam us up sooner. This – " he gestured toward Chekov's torso, and Chekov wasn't sure whether he was talking about the bruises, the stab wound, or both – "should never have happened. I should have been there. I should never have let them do this to you."

In all reality, Chekov realized, Kirk _should_ have been there. It usually fell to the captain to lead the first away mission on a new ship. Kirk should reasonably have been the one captured by Moloz. But Chekov couldn't help being glad he wasn't. He wouldn't have wished this experience on any of his friends.

His family.

And watching Kirk sit there, sobbing over something that was so far out of his control, something that wasn't his fault, Chekov wondered how he could ever, even for the briefest of moments, believed Moloz was right. Moloz had said loyalty, family, the ties that bound him to his friends, were all lies. But he had been wrong.

Because if they had been lies, Chekov would be on his way to a mining colony right now, and Kirk would be exploring some part of the galaxy with a valid reason for his guilty conscience.

"Zey _did_ beat me," Chekov began, and Kirk looked up as though he were shocked he'd decided to speak. "Zey abused me. Tortured me, ewen. And yes, I did almost die from zat stab vound. But no matter vat ze physical ramifications vere, zere is von thing ze Orions could newer take away from me, Keptin." He grabbed Kirk's arm, to be sure he was listening. "Ze fact zat I had people villing to move planets to get me back. If zat doesn't prove Moloz wrong on his opinion of family, I don't know vat vould."

Kirk sat there, eyes downcast. When he looked back up, there was fire in them.

"Of course, we'd move planets. Hell, we'd move the whole galaxy if we had to. We love you, Chekov." Chekov's eyes must have widened at that, because Kirk laughed. "I mean, what else was going to get Bones moving through the sewers just to break into that amphitheater? Why else would Scotty threaten to make haggis out of someone's innards? Yeah, that happened. And it was disturbing, to say the least."

Kirk sat back in his seat and sighed, as though debating whether what he was about to say was a good idea.

"Dammit, _I_ love you, Chekov," he said. "You know I've never said that to another member of the crew? Not even Bones. I mean, there was Carol, but she doesn't count. We were together. But you...you're like my brother. Every bit as much as Bones is. So if you _ever_ doubt that there's anything I wouldn't do for you – "

He was cut off by Chekov leaning over the bed and wrapping his arms around him. Of course, that was interrupted by a grunt of pain from the Russian in question, followed by Jim hurriedly easing himself into a sitting position on the bed so Chekov's wound didn't start bleeding again.

"I don't think zat vill be an issue, Keptin," Chekov said. "And, for vat it's vorth, you're as good as a brother to me, too."

Jim smiled, hugging him as tight as the wound would allow. "You know these past four days have been some of the scariest of my life, right? Not to mention the past four hours."

Chekov laughed wryly. "You should have seen zem from zis side of things."

There was silence. "Chekov, I really am – "

"Jim," he said, addressing him by his first name for the first time. "Stop apologizing for things you can't change."

Jim nodded. "Okay." Pulling back, he decided a slight change of subject was in order. "So, speaking of brotherhood...how would you feel about being an uncle?"

Chekov raised an eyebrow. "You are avare Demora already calls me 'Uncle', right – " Suddenly, his train of thought broke off and his jaw dropped. "Vait, vat?"

"Carol's pregnant."

Chekov processed that for a few moments, then lay back in bed. "Zat...is _terrifying_. Sir."

"You know, Bones said basically the same thing."

"A little person zat's half you, half Dr. Marcus running around," Chekov commented. "Ze end of ze uniwerse is nigh."

Jim laughed, then reached out and squeezed Chekov's shoulder. "It's good to have you home, Pavel."

Chekov sighed and closed his eyes. "It's good to be home, Jim."

* * *

 **And that wraps up Saving Ensign Chekov. This was an idea that's been ruminating honestly ever since I saw Beyond. I decided that I wanted to see more of Chekov and Kirk's friendship, and exactly the lengths Kirk will go to for his crew. Thus, this story was born. Thanks to those of you who read and reviewed! Shout out to my most frequent reviewers: equine02 and booksfoodmusic-minion. I'm glad you thought it was worth the time!**

 **I was originally going to let you guys sit for more than, well, a day before I finished it, but the inspiration struck and I just had to finish. I hope the final chapter was to your approval. Also, I will have you know I cried a bit as I was writing this one. Mostly because, especially in this particular chapter, I was thinking about Anton A LOT. May he rest in peace.**

 **Read, review, enjoy, please return for more later! I'm planning a few one shots down the road. I really want to follow up on Lauren. I didn't intend for her to play much more of a role in the story, but she did, and her character intrigues me. I'll probably revisit her at the Academy. Also, there will be one of when Carol goes into labor/the crew's reaction to David.**

 **And here's where I'm tacky and pitch my other stories. I have a Bones/OC, currently moderate amounts of Chekov/OC series going called Statistical Impossibilities. It has three installments, (Breathe, Echoes of the Past, and Down to the Wire), along with a series of Companion One Shots. Literally, that's what they're called. I also wrote a tribute a while back for Anton Yelchin called We're Not Ready. If you feel emotionally ready for such a thing after this one, please check it out. Other than that, I have an unrelated one shot called The Blood of the Covenant, which is basically a whole lot of laughs. Picture Scotty, Sulu, Chekov, and Keenser on a road trip. It gets fun.**

 **Once again, thank you all so much for reading! Much love to you all, live long and prosper, and never forget that Scotch was actually inwented by a little old lady in Russia. (Leningrad, if you want specifics.) Good night!**


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